


Dragon Tamer

by tralala



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Bondage, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dragon Age: Inquisition Crossover, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Language Barrier, Miscommunication, Size Difference, Size Kink, Skyrim Crossover, Slow Burn, Top Iron Bull, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tralala/pseuds/tralala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tsun sends the Dragonborn home after Alduin's defeat, something goes terribly wrong. She wakes up shackled in a prison cell, with a glowing green mark upon her hand and no memory of how she got there. A world in peril needs a hero once more, but with little means to communicate with the people around her she's the last person anyone trusts to do what's needed. Is Thedas doomed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a fill for the following Dragon Age Kink Meme request: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=52009845#t52009845
> 
> "The "Herald" falls out of the Fade... and noone knows who she is. Noone. Not to mention her strange armor, even stranger weapons and unidentifiable race.
> 
> The explanation is weirder than anyone would have guessed: The "Herald" is Skyrim's Dragonborn who was pulled here through Oblivion/Aetherius. And so the Dragonborn Inquisitor was trapped and jailed once again. Expected to save everyones ass once again. That sounds familiar. And here she though she was done with that shit.
> 
> Turns out all dreamworlds are connected and something went wrong, sending the poor woman into another world. How? I leave that up to you. Some ideas:  
> \- Tsun miscalculated sending her back from Sovengarde  
> \- She stepped into a different portal in the Soul Cairn  
> \- Otar the Mad had to be locked up to stop him from messing with Oblivion, releasing him also unlocks his weird power...
> 
> Preferred LI: The Iron Bull, for the extra hotness of Bull sleeping with a dragon in a human body. Also, there are strange similarities between Dragon speech and Ancient Qunlat. How does the Iron Bull deal with the revelation that his language comes from Dragons? :3"
> 
>   
> Artwork by [fwlw](http://fwlw.tumblr.com/).

The prison cell was cold, poorly lit, and smelled of mold. Vanyssa Wicksmith knelt in the center of the floor with her hands shackled together, surrounded by armed soldiers whose swords were perpetually drawn. None of these things disturbed her as much as the mysterious, glowing, green mark on the palm of her left hand. Occasionally it would grow brighter, and send a sharp bolt of pain up into her shoulder. With each flare, her captors would flinch in terror. Attempts to communicate with them were met with words in a language she didn't recognize. 

Escape was not beyond her reach. Her captors were clearly unaware that she was the Dragonborn. They'd have gagged her otherwise. Unfortunately staying put could very well be her only means of determining the nature of the mark. They were likely responsible for putting it there. If so, it could allow them to track her down. For all she knew, that was the mark's sole purpose.

Suddenly the door in front of her swung open. Two women entered. The hooded one had a complexion and hair color similar to her own, but was taller and more human looking. Either she was a Nord, or a fellow immigrant from High Rock. The dark-skinned woman beside her had short, black hair and was Imperial through and through.

Vanyssa glared at the latter, gave her shackles a little shake, then snorted. "Once wasn't enough for you people, huh?"

The Imperial leaned down until their faces almost touched, and responded in a tone that was meant to be intimidating. It seemed to be the same language the soldiers spoke.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Vanyssa replied with a small shrug.

The Imperial spoke again, this time giving her shackles a tug.

"I don't understand what you're saying," she repeated, allowing a small hint of irritation to seep into her voice.

The next words that came from the Imperial were much angrier. She pulled back her arm as if to punch of Vanyssa in the face, but the hooded woman intervened.

"I am a _Breton_ ," she shouted, enunciating each word as if speaking to a pair of simpletons. "Breton," she repeated, awkwardly gesturing to herself with her bound limbs. "Unless you're from some far-flung continent on the other side of Tamriel, you should at least recognize _that_ word." She then gestured to the door they entered through. "Either go find someone to translate for us, or stop bellowing at- Ow, shit!"

The mark flared. Vanyssa clenched her teeth together, squeezed her eyes shut, and hissed. It took a few seconds for the pain to subside. When she opened her eyes, the two women were looking down at her with a mix of alarm and uncertainty on their faces. She angled her left hand upward slightly and wiggled her fingers. "I don't suppose either of you want to explain how this got here."

The Imperial exchanged words with the hooded woman, who promptly left. Then she silently walked back over to help her to her feet. 

"Guess not," Vanyssa said with a sigh.

First she was led up a flight of stairs, then down a wide corridor with a pair of double doors at the end, and finally outside. The first thing to grab her attention was the giant, green portal in the sky. It grew just a little bit bigger, and at that moment the mark on her hand flared so painfully it brought her to her knees. The Imperial kneeled before her, speaking to her calmly as she reached a hand out to steady her.

When Vanyssa was done groaning in agony she looked up at the portal and shook her head in frustration. "So, which Daedric Lord is trying to invade Tamriel this time?"

The faintest scent of burnt flesh was carried on the wind as the biting cold of Skyrim nipped at Vanyssa's cheeks. After the door closed behind her, the black-haired Imperial woman removed her shackles. Much became clear as she followed her through the camp outside. The murmurs between people throughout were in the same foreign tongue, but the look in their eyes was painfully familiar.

_Traitor._

She thought it likely they either believed she opened the massive Oblivion gate herself, or that she served whichever Daedric Lord was responsible for it. Given her particular choice of heavy armor, she couldn't necessarily blame them for the latter. Convincing anyone of her innocence would prove impossible if she didn't figure out a way to overcome the language barrier. That one existed to such an extent raised important questions.

Why were so many foreigners gathered together in Skyrim? Why was there not a single native Nord present? Why did her captors expect her to know their language?

The Imperial barked a command, and two soldiers pulled open a towering gate. As Vanyssa trailed close behind her, she carefully divided her attention between her surroundings and the effort to recall what happened before she awoke in the prison cell. Alduin was defeated in Sovngarde. Knowing it would be long before she returned, she lingered for a time. Then Tsun sent her back to Skyrim. Only the next thing she remembered was being in a damp, cavernous, green-hued place, being chased by a herd of creatures that resembled spider daedra. 

_Green._

Vanyssa glanced up at the Oblivion gate. Perhaps Tsun made a mistake. Or perhaps the Daedric Lord who opened the gate abducted her during her journey home. If so, it was possible that whatever she did to escape caused the gate to open.

_I could be guilty this time._

The Imperial took her across a small bridge, then through another gate. Attempts to communicate ceased. They trekked up a snowy path in silence. As they crossed another bridge, a green bolt shot down from the sky and split it in half. Vanyssa survived the fall without taking any susbstantial injuries. Unfortunately, so did the Imperial. Just as they made it to their feet another bolt shot down, this time bringing two daedra with it.

_Definitely an Oblivion gate._

The Imperial drew her sword and shield, then charged forward. Vanyssa, having no weapons of her own, was forced to summon one. A purple glow erupted between her outstretched hands, then was replaced by a giant Daedric battleaxe. She brought it down on the first to approach her, assuming it would be banished back to its realm with a single swing.

It was not.

_Something's wrong._

There was no time to think on it. Instead, she hacked away at the daedra with all her might until it collapsed. The body mostly dissolved, leaving behind little more than a green mound of mush. That was not a thing she'd ever seen one do. Then again, most of her battle experience centered around dragons and Skyrim's natural wildlife. 

The Imperial approached her with her sword still drawn, forcing Vanyssa to instinctively take a step back. She began yelling something at her, but abruptly stopped when her summoned battleaxe dissipated. The surprise on her face suggested she'd never witnessed such a spell, or was not expecting her to know how to cast one. 

"Shall we continue?" she asked with a shrug.

The Imperial sighed and, with some visible reluctance, sheathed her sword. The expression on her face softened, and the words that followed sounded tired. Then she reached into a small pack strapped to her hip, retrieving what appeared to be a healing potion. Vanyssa smiled, politely shaking her head.

"Restoration magick," she said, pointing to herself, then to the Imperial. "You keep." For once, the Imperial understood.

Though the offer was unnecessary, it was good that she made it. If nothing else, it served as a clear indication that Vanyssa wasn't being led to her execution. They continued up and down snow-covered paths, occasionally stopping to deal with more daedra. When they reached a stone stairway leading up a hill, the sound of battle could be heard nearby. Vanyssa sprinted towards it as fast as she could, ignoring whatever words the Imperial was shouting from behind her.

She was eager to hit something.

Soon the chaos became visible. Several soldiers were fighting with daedra around a green portal that hovered in midair. Vanyssa summoned her battleaxe as she neared. One man was particularly bloody, and looked like he was ready to collapse, so she attacked the one he was dealing with first. It died quickly. Before she had a chance to seek out another target, an unusually tall Bosmer stepped beside her. He shouted something she couldn't understand, then grabbed her left wrist and thrust it towards the portal. The sudden roar that emerged from it made her flinch, but his grip remained tight until all of the green light folded into itself and disappeared.

Once the Bosmer released her, she took a step back from him and looked around.

_Humans._

_Humans._

_More humans._

_And a Dwemer with a giant crossbow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things I'd like to address:
> 
> 1\. This is the first fictional _anything_ I've written in about 10 years, so I'm a little rusty.
> 
> 2\. ~~I have no beta reader. If you would like to beta this fic, please let me know.~~
> 
> 3\. Since I want this fic to be the best it can be, I am ok with constructive criticism, though I would appreciate it if you maybe try to not be an ass about it, thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Solas was elated to see the strangely armored, young woman both awake and well enough to fight. The number of things about her that didn't make sense disturbed him, but there would be answers soon enough.

"Vugims Bosmer. Ceh bixn't pyajul fi elujkyl ovt bix ceh?"

Or not.

"I beg your pardon," Solas replied, squinting down at her face.

"Ugh vitug ohg," she said, smacking her forehead and rolling her eyes. Then with what looked to be much effort, she gave him a friendly smile and extended her right hand to him. "Ayst yis Vanyssa." She paused, patting her chest. "Vanyssa."

_This language is not spoken anywhere in Thedas._

He shook her hand, smiled, and patted his own chest. "Solas," he replied.

Vanyssa smiled a little wider and nodded. "Loz fi quig ceh Solas."

Cassandra approached him, looking angrier than usual. "As you can see, matters are even more complicated than anticipated," she said, gesturing to Vanyssa as she wandered over to Varric.

"Indeed."

"You were right about her mark closing the rifts. Do you believe it can close the Breach as well?"

"Possibly." Solas glanced over at Vanyssa, who was now kneeling in front of Varric chattering away excitedly. "It seems she holds the key to our salvation."

Cassandra scowled. "Maker help us."

As they walked over to Vanyssa and Varric, she started prodding at the top of his ear. "Ayst lugak oquytoled Dwemer rogging jirx unks. Usht ceh kyit pauched znix Varric?"

Cassandra folded her arms across her chest, and glared down at Varric. "I don't suppose _you_ understand what she's saying."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Truly?"

"She told me she's baffled by how one dwarf could possibly be this handsome."

"Varric, this is no time for your jokes!"

"Who's joking? It's a perfectly normal reaction," he replied, then winked at Vanyssa, and gently took her by the wrist to remove the offending finger from his ear. "Isn't that right, Pokey?"

Vanyssa rose to her feet and sighed. "Ayst wijn't elujkyl dif ceh'sht huldim."

"Of course, I'll give you my autograph if we survive the apocalypse. Anything for a fan," Varric replied.

"She has repeated that phrase to me. I believe she's saying she can't understand you," said Cassandra.

"Or maybe she wants your autograph too, Seeker. I mean you did single-handedly slay a hoard of dragons once, didn't you?"

Cassandra responded with what would surely be one of many disgusted noises that day. Beside her, Solas watched the exchange in horrified silence, knowing just how serious the matter was. And knowing that he couldn't reveal the truth of it without revealing the truth about himself.

* * *

There were several more clusters of daedra and another green portal as the group traveled to its destination. At one point Vanyssa managed to loot some gear off a dead soldier, which included a sword and shield. They were both of cheap quality, but if she found herself with too little magicka to maintain a summoned battleaxe, they'd at least serve better than her bare fists.

Whatever words were shared between Vanyssa's dubious allies along the way, she ignored them in favor of trying to unravel the many mysteries surrounding her return to Tamriel. The presence of the half-breed Dwemer, Varric, was odd enough on its own. That she was the only one who appeared shocked by the sight of a living, breathing Dwemer revealed much about her circumstances. If there were Dwemer in Skyrim once more, and a different language was now spoken by the region's occupants, then it was possible her journey home took a couple hundred years or more. There were blank spots in her memory. Perhaps she'd been imprisoned in that Oblivion realm for a long time. It would sound ridiculous to say such things out loud, but how many plausible explanations were there for what was happening?

An old man in peculiar garb seemed to be bickering with the hooded woman from earlier when they arrived. Upon noticing the group, he directed his hostility towards the Imperial for a few minutes. Then the Imperial discussed something with Solas and Varric. In the end, she led them back into the wilderness with Varric looking slightly annoyed.

Along the way, there was another portal surrounded by daedra and more soldiers. Once they were dealt with, Vanyssa spotted a large, blond-haired man who was one of the most Nord-y looking Nords she ever laid eyes on. 

_Finally._

"You," she said, pointing at him. "Explain to me what's happening." 

The response that followed was as unintelligible as every other Vanyssa received that day.

"More gibberish," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose with her left hand. "Just wonderful."

When she opened them the man was giving the battleaxe in her other hand a funny look. Some people took great offense to someone speaking to them with a weapon drawn, so she dismissed it. Suddenly he was glaring down at her as if she just picked her nose and flung a giant booger at him. She could only assume this was due to the realization that she was a mage. 

_Typical Nord._

He uttered angry words at the Imperial, which prompted a brief retort from Solas. When the exchange ended, the group parted ways with him and continued onward together.

The smell of burnt flesh became stronger with each step. Vanyssa witnessed too much death during her pursuit of Alduin to be startled by the scene that awaited them. The group turned several corners through what was left of a large, decimated building, pausing at what looked to be a terrace once. A massacre took place here. It reminded her of the destruction left behind by dragons, but instead it was centered around the giant Oblivion gate overhead. 

The Imperial placed a hand upon Vanyssa's shoulder, and spoke to her in a tone that commanded her full attention. The expression on her face was more of concern than aggression though. Solas stood close to her side, and the Imperial pointed back and forth between them. He then took Vanyssa by both shoulders, turned her around to face him, and spoke gently while making the same pointing motion between them. While she did not wish to be uncooperative, she did not want to give the false impression that she understood their instructions well enough to follow them, so she simply turned her palms upward and shrugged. Solas glanced at the Imperial, shaking his head. Then, with one arm firmly wrapped around one of hers, he began leading her to lower ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanyssa's dialogue may look like gibberish when you read it from Solas's POV, but as the story progresses readers may be able to pick up on what she's saying based on previous dialogue and context. I'm jotting down the translations for each word as I go, in what will serve as a sort of dictionary to prevent me from making multiple versions of a single word. When I began writing this I considered using the Google translation with another language, but decided against it. The service isn't terribly reliable, and on the off chance someone from that language's region read this fic I'd rather they didn't have to watch their mother tongue get mangled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice," a deep voice echoed from the rift as the group came closer to it. Solas immediately recognized it, but gave no visible indication.

"What are we hearing?" asked Cassandra.

"At a guess: the person who created the breach," he replied.

When they neared the rift, the mark on Vanyssa's hand flared, only this time she didn't double over in pain.

_Her body no longer rejects it. Good._

"Someone help me!" another voice cried out from the rift that was distinctly Orlesian.

Next came a far more familiar one. "Dif'z tivim ilb ruij?"

Vanyssa gasped, and frantically pointed at the rift. "Fuch'z nai nulvdut! Ree dehk fuch?"

"That was _her_ voice," said Cassandra, taking a couple steps closer to the distressed woman. "Most Holy called out to her. But-"

The light of the rift flickered, revealing distorted images of an imposing figure with glowing eyes, and a woman suspended in midair before it. Seconds later an image of Vanyssa ran towards them, repeating what it just said a moment ago.

"Fuch'z ovt! Zeig sib?" she shouted in response, looking utterly terrified.

Solas squeezed her hand. "It will be alright," he said calmly, knowing that his tone was more important than his choice of words.

The image of the Divine pleaded with Vanyssa to run away and warn people. The Divine's captor identified Vanyssa as an intruder, and ordered someone to kill her.

_With any luck this should deter Cassandra from assuming her guilt._

"She _was_ there! Who..." Cassandra shook her head and frowned. "I suppose there's no point in asking," she said.

"These are echoes of what happened here, Cassandra. The Fade bleeds into this place," he said.

"Is there any chance the Divine could still be alive?" asked Cassandra.

"It is possible, but unlikely," Solas replied, then proceeded to explain the present state of the rift, and how best to deal with it. 

The plan wasn't complicated. He had surmised that whatever might come out of the rift would be much deadlier than anything the group faced up to this point. It would be his responsibility to keep Vanyssa out of the fight as much as possible, while attacking with magic from a safe distance. The woman had proven herself a capable fighter, but if there was no way to convey even the simplest instructions to her she could get other people killed, or get herself killed, which would inevitably get _everyone_ killed. It was too much of a gamble.

"Stand ready!" Cassandra shouted. The many soldiers under her command took up their positions, and unsheathed their weapons. 

Solas grasped Vanyssa's left wrist, thrusting her hand upward towards the rift. She gave him a confused look, but put up no resistance. A bolt of green light shot down to the ground as the rift opened, bringing a massive pride demon with it. Much to his surprise, she was only slightly startled. When she brought her hands together to summon her battleaxe he was ready to intervene.

"No," he said as he took hold of each hand, separated them, then led her several feet further away from the battle. "Stay right here," he said, pointing at her feet with each word for emphasis.

Solas attacked the demon with his frost staff, glancing at Vanyssa between each icy bolt to make sure she stayed put. Her eyes kept darting about the battlefield, searching, though for what he wasn't sure until a wisp of golden light emerged from her hands. It leapt straight forward to Cassandra. 

"Yes, _heal_ the soldiers. That's good," he shouted, giving her an encouraging smile.

The pride demon began drawing on the energy generated by the rift to shield itself. "Again!" Solas took her by the wrist once more, urging her to activate the mark. 

A small hoard of lesser demons appeared. Solas positioned himself in front of Vanyssa, freezing the two that approached and diverting their attention so she could keep people alive. The pride demon might continue trying to protect itself, but it couldn't regenerate. If she didn't run out of whatever it was that fueled her magic, the soldiers would outlast it. They _would_ succeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Edited for clarity._

It was such an unprecedented thing, these people wanting to reduce Vanyssa to the role of healer. As a mage she, of course, understood how vital one was in a battle of this size, but most people didn't. Was this demanded of her because they doubted her prowess, or were there simply no other healers among their ranks? In the end, it mattered little. These unwanted allies clearly knew more about what was happening than she did. Defying them to soothe her wounded pride would be unforgivably childish in the midst of a crisis like this. And so she stood to the side, healing the soldiers enough to keep them fighting, but not so much that she drew attention from the massive daedra. The Bosmer mage, Solas, repeated a word she eventually understood to mean _use the mark_. More lesser daedra appeared each time, though none ever got close enough to harm her. Solas saw to that.

Finally, the massive daedra collapsed, and nothing more emerged from the Oblivion gate. Many soldiers cheered. A couple simply plunked themselves on the ground to sit and rest. Every one of them survived, which made her feel a little less ashamed of the part she played. 

Whether it was due to the number of times Vanyssa already used the mark on the gate, or the sheer size of it, she didn't know, but upon closing it she fell to her knees and felt herself slip into unconsciousness. 

It proved impossible to rise to her feet when she awoke. All of her limbs moved awkwardly. Her Daedric armor looked odd in the way it wrapped around her arms, though that was easily attributed to the disorientation she was suffering. For a time, she remained stretched out on her stomach, staring at the dry, _yellow_ dirt beneath her. A small voice in the back of her head told her she was not in Skyrim. The lack of sand told her she was not in Hammerfell either. The smell of burnt flesh was gone, as were the foreign voices. But she did sense movement nearby.

Slowly, she lifted her head. A group of daedra watched her from a distance. Some peeked out from behind bolders. Others stood out in the open, tilting their heads curiously. None attacked. 

Vanyssa squinted, trying to gain better control of her vision, and realized the daedra were not quite as far away as she thought. Rather they were tiny things. Had she better control of her limbs, she could have picked one up in her hand like a doll.

_It's no wonder they remain passive._

Another clumsy, failed attempt at standing up sent the daedra running. At this she laughed, then abruptly stopped. Her voice was like gravel crunching in her ears. It frightened her.

If there was anything present that wanted to hurt Vanyssa, she believed it would have taken the opportunity before she awoke. With that in mind, she laid her head back down on the ground and shut her eyes. There was no end to the questions flitting through her mind. It would be one thing if her allies cared nothing for her well-being after she closed the Oblivion gate. They may have been the callous sort who saw her as a tool that outlived its usefulness, but why go to the trouble of dumping her body in a presumably distant land? Or if she was seen as too great a threat or inconvenience to be abandoned where she fell, would it not have been easier to simply put her back in her prison cell?

Vanyssa would rest long enough to regain her balance, then search this unfamiliar place. That was the plan at least. Something approached quietly, but not quietly enough. Her eyes snapped open. Before her stood a tiny, black wolf with a face full of dull, red eyes.

"I am pleased to see you yet live," it said.

"It is kind of you to say so. Would you extend your kindness further by telling me where I am, pup?"

The wolf let out a quiet, amused laugh. "You are in the Fade, and I assure you I have not been a _pup_ in quite some time," it replied without malice.

"You're very small."

"To one such as you, perhaps."

"I- I am very large?"

"You are a dragon."

Vanyssa slowly turned her head sideways, and was greeted by a long, scaly, red tail jutting out from behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, there will likely be major spoilers for the end of DA:I. If you haven't completed the game, I strongly urge you to do so before reading past this point.
> 
> _Edited for clarity._

Vanyssa sat up in bed, gasping for air. Fantasizing about taking on her true form was a great deal different from having it forced upon her unexpectedly. It was only a dream, of course, but it felt so real it took nearly a full minute to be certain she was awake. The black wolf with the cluster of red eyes was equally troubling. It told her she was in a different world, where even dreams took place in a land all their own. It told her it needed to teach her, and to warn her. 

It told her things she hoped were lies.

She looked down at her arms, and found neither scales nor armor. Someone undressed her while she slept. The clothing she wore now was made of flimsy, beige fabric with silver buckles down the front that seemed out of place. The sweat and grime was scrubbed from her body as well. She wondered, for a moment, who did these things for her. 

Closing the Oblivion gate did not remove the green mark from her hand, but it wasn't hurting her anymore. It was her "anchor" to the world of dreams now, if the wolf _was_ to be believed. Real or not, there was a nagging sense of urgency in remembering its words. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat on the edge, staring at the animal skin rug beneath her feet.

_The spirits will adapt to you._

_The demons will possess you._

_The black city will corrupt you._

The memory of that dark place hovering ominously in the distance flashed before her eyes.

_May your wings never carry you there, Dovahkiin._

The door to the room swinging open went unnoticed until the distressed sound of a woman's voice echoed off the walls. Vanyssa looked up to find a brown-haired Bosmer woman kneeling on the floor, as if in worship. After four years of fame throughout Skyrim, she was used to people treating her with a certain level of reverence, but this display was over the top even in her experience. She rose from the bed, crossed the room to her, and gently helped her to her feet. Wide-eyed, the woman backed away from her, uttered some frantic words, then fled out the door.

As unsettling as her behavior was, it provided an important clue about her current situation. Either these people learned that she was the Dragonborn and held her in higher regard than Skyrim's previous inhabitants, or this was some sort of reaction to her closing the Oblivion gate. 

_Fereldan. Thedas. If I could just remember-_

The door swung open again, only this time it was a calmer, more familiar Bosmer coming to greet her.

"Solas!" The relief was evident in her voice. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she feared another encounter with the aggressive Imperial woman. She was no fool, of course. This Bosmer's friendly, welcoming demeanor could be little more than a tool of manipulation, but for the moment she was simply grateful to be dealing with someone who wasn't openly hostile.

"Vanyssa," he said with a smile and a nod, then handed her a small loaf of bread. It wasn't until she smelled it, and felt the warmth of it in her mouth, that she realized how hungry she was. Before she could get a second bite, he was beckoning her to follow him outside. She didn't know if he intended for her to put it down and finish it later, but he'd have to pry it out of her cold, dead fingers first.

When they emerged, there were rows of people lining the paths, most with their fists held to their chests and eyes lowered. Vanyssa never excelled at social graces, but she learned soon after she killed her first dragon that people remembered her. 

And they talked. 

This first impression could make or break her standing among them, and that standing could very well be the thing that kept her from being imprisoned a third time. In a culture she knew nothing of, a confident albeit humble approach seemed safest. She inclined her head respectfully to the crowd; her standard, polite gesture for when one gathered after she killed a dragon near a city or village. Anything more grand than that could be interpreted as pompous.

With shoulders back, and head held high, Vanyssa followed Solas to the tall building the Imperial had dragged her out of. Every nerve in her body told her to run. Outwardly, she would not flinch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the honor of being the first to get a proper beta reading, and I'd like to take a moment to publicly thank Luna Writer for the magic she performed. If you're wondering why this one is leaps and bounds better than all the others, quite frankly _a wizard did it_.

The crowd of humans amused Solas. That Andraste's "chosen one" was assumed to be a dwarf-blooded elven apostate must have crushed a great many egos. Cassandra had believed round ears and magic marked Vanyssa as half-human, but were that the case both her face and height would be entirely human. Instead her face was as angular as his own, and she stood no more than a few inches above Varric. For the child of such a union to be born a mage was incredibly rare, but by no means impossible. If not for her dubious hero status, she'd be nearly everything a devout Andrastian despises.

Of course, now having seen Vanyssa in the Fade, Solas was uncertain of her true nature. It was a pity the time he could spend conversing with her there was so limited. Worse still, was the need to distort her senses, but too much was unknown about her abilities. He could not risk her linking the wolf in her dreams to the elf at her side. What mattered was the purpose, and that had been achieved. She would know that the spirits could be her friends, that the demons could do no more harm to her than she allowed, and that the black city should be avoided at all costs. In her waking hours, the memory of what he shared with her would be hazy, but when she returned to the Fade he was confident she would remember. Unfortunately, the amount of magic necessary to subdue a dragon in the Fade had left him drained. Unless her very life was at stake, he would not seek her out there again.

One potentially crucial thing was learned in the Fade. Vanyssa had a title in her place of origin: Dovahkiin. She said it meant _Dragonborn_ in the "dragon tongue". In Thedas, it was a word from ancient Qunlat. What that meant for the connection between her world and theirs, he could only imagine. In more pragmatic terms it meant she spoke a language that, to at least some degree, was still used by the Kossith's descendents. Solas couldn't be the one to reveal this, of course, but he could perhaps nudge Cassandra in such a way that would allow her to discover it on her own. 

Thanks to the success of the battle against the pride demon, it was Cassandra's opinion that Solas had a knack for getting through to Vanyssa, and so while the woman slept it was decided that she would be his ward, at least until the communication problem was dealt with. In truth, he hadn't done anything that others at Haven couldn't if they were patient and willing, but for the time being the assumption served his purpose. The more invaluable his assistance was perceived to be, the better his odds of survival among the humans would be. For now, such an alliance was a necessary evil.

There was a tension building from the moment Solas and Vanyssa neared the door of Haven's chantry. He assumed it was something to do with the people gathered outside. Then halfway down the hall she had a coughing fit, almost dropping the bread he gave her. Her knees buckled slightly, and he wrapped a hand around her arm so she wouldn't lose her balance. He'd been responsible for monitoring her health when she was unconscious. She wasn't sick. He'd have known if she was sick. If she had been, he would have put her right back to bed rather than dragging her to Cassandra's makeshift war room. It seemed odd to him until he realized they were standing mere feet away from the door leading down to the prison cells. Her eyes neither sought it out, nor avoided it. When he looked into them he saw no fear, only confusion. Then gratitude. Though the blood seemed to drain from her face, the coughing fit did stop. They continued.

The sound of bickering could be heard before Solas opened the door. A pair of soldiers were guarding it from inside. Chancellor Roderick, Cassandra, and Leliana stood around a wide table with a large map covering the top. The moment the former took notice of their entrance, he commanded the soldiers to put Vanyssa in chains. Fortunately, before even Solas could react, Cassandra ordered the soldiers to leave the room without her. Any doubt the Chancellor had about who held the power at Haven should have been erased. That didn't stop him from picking his argument with her right back up where he left it. Solas was tasked with bringing Vanyssa here so that Cassandra could show her various maps of Thedas, and get an idea of where she was from. It looked like that pointless endeavor would have to wait though.

Whether it was the aggressive atmosphere of the room, or simply the booming voices, Solas couldn't tell, but something was putting Vanyssa on edge. There was nothing he could say that would assure her that she was safe for the time being, and so he searched the room for something he might distract her with. His gaze rested on the bookshelf. She couldn't read anything on it, of course, but if there was something with sketches in it, it could at least be enough to prevent another coughing fit. He brought an arm around her shoulders to guide her towards it. The gesture was intended to be more comforting than practical. She gave him a small smile as she silently followed.

Solas ran a hand over the top row of books while Vanyssa ate what was left of her bread, and Cassandra swiftly put Chancellor Roderick in his place. His hand hovered over a book on the riveting history of chantry robe designs when he noticed the distinctive letters on the one right beside it.

_Perfect._

* * *

Oddly enough, the prostrating Bosmer woman and crowd of awestruck people were the only things that made sense since Vanyssa woke up. The three humans were in the middle of a dispute, Solas looked like he wanted to be in the middle of a good read, and _she_ felt like she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown that came out of nowhere. For a while, she was content to ignore her sense of impending doom, and watch him fondle the contents of the bookcase. Then she heard a slam from behind her, and turned sideways a bit to see what happened. The Imperial was pointing at a thick book on the table. The old man in the funny garb didn't seem to like her anymore than Vanyssa did. She had little time to wonder why though, as Solas was suddenly handing her a small pile of books. He pointed at her eyes, then made a gesture like he was opening up the book on the top.

_Does he want me to try to read them? Whatever for?_

The funny garb man stormed out of the room in a huff. Solas approached the table, and began talking to the Imperial, leaving Vanyssa to the apparent task at hand. She sighed.

_Well, it's not like I have anything better to do._

The book at the top was filled with words written with letters she'd never seen before, and as she flipped through it found no pictures. She shuffled the top book to the bottom. The next was very much the same.

_Is there even a purpose to this? Does Solas just want me occupied while the grownups talk?_

The sight of the text on the cover of the third book almost caused Vanyssa to drop them all on the floor. The hoard of dragon souls within her stirred, causing her chest to tighten, and the inside of her ears to itch. There was a hierarchy within her. They knew their place, and were normally quiet, speaking only when she called upon them. But as she took in the unfamiliar words in the all too familiar letters, she could feel them seething.

_An aberration._

_Pale imitation._

_Bastardized._

Their opinions were unimportant. What they revealed, however, was more useful than they likely realized. If the dragon souls saw the text in the book as derivative of the dragon tongue, that meant the dragon tongue had to exist somewhere in this world. She wasn't entirely fluent in it, but she could certainly understand it better than whatever language Solas and the others spoke.

Vanyssa haphazardly shoved the other books back into the bookcase wherever she could make them fit, then turned around to face the table. Solas was speaking quietly with his hands folded behind his back, while the Imperial and the hooded redhead listened intently. It was a shame to interrupt him, but having her read the books _was_ his idea after all.

"Uhm, excuse me," she said hesitantly.

All three heads turned in Vanyssa's direction at once. It took some effort not to gulp. There was no way to tell the Imperial and the hooded redhead how hurt and angry she was over her false imprisonment, no matter how temporary it might have been. There was no way to tell Solas that his unrelenting kindness was the only thing giving her the strength to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. There was no way to tell them how lonely and terrifying this new world was. There was no way to tell them that a person who spoke the language in the book she held may also be able to speak to her, and that she needed that person _right now_. But if she could do something to push them in the direction of such a person, if she could get them to seek out that person on her behalf, she promised herself she'd use the gifts Akatosh blessed her with to fight for them and protect them from whoever might do them harm. 

Vanyssa opened the book to the first page, and cleared her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important, time-consuming thing has come up IRL that might make updates difficult from 3-23-2015 until 4-5-2015. A lack of updates during that time should not be taken as a sign that I've abandoned Dragon Tamer. I will be updating again soon. Just be patient.


	7. Chapter 7

As Vanyssa recited the words on the page, Solas struggled to suppress a sigh of relief. Cassandra's eyebrows shot up, and her mouth hung open ever so slightly. "What book was she just reading from?" she asked.

Solas took a couple steps towards Vanyssa, and tilted his head sideways, as if he needed a better look to know which one she held. "I found several books on the shelf written in foreign languages. I thought, perhaps, if she recognized one of them we'd be a step closer to solving our communication problem," he said.

Cassandra gave him a nod. "Good work, Solas."

"Indeed," Leliana said as she walked over to Vanyssa, and reached a hand out to take it. "And if this is the book I think it is-"

"Maz!" Vanyssa nearly slammed the book shut on her fingers, and clutched it to her chest. "Inuk nuf ovt quij ohg. Ayst-" She swallowed hard as the tears forming in her eyes threatened to spill. "Inuk ayst _muze_ ohg."

Leliana barely reacted. Instead, she folded her hands behind her back and said, "I only need to see."

Vanyssa slowly brought her hands to the edges of the book, revealing as much of the cover as possible without loosening her grip on it.

Frowning, Leliana turned her attention to the bookcase. "Solas, did you give the Herald a book written in Qunlat?"

"I did."

"Do you recall which shelf you found it on?"

"I believe it was at the top."

Leliana quickly searched two lower shelves, then nodded. "Then I know which book she holds: _The Tamassran's Companion_ ," she said.

"I know what a Tamassran is, but I've not heard of this book," said Cassandra.

"A Tamassran receives it on the day her training and education are complete. It contains summaries of all she has learned, accompanied by relevant excerpts from the _Tome of Koslun_. She is required to read five pages daily, as a means of focus. Many in the Chantry believe in 'knowing thy enemy'. That is likely why a copy is kept here," Leliana replied.

"I'm surprised you would know so much about it," said Cassandra.

"You are aware I once traveled with a Qunari, no?" said Leliana.

"I don't suppose you care to elaborate," said Cassandra, folding her arms across her chest.

"It was a long time ago. I'm sure you'd find the tale dreadfully boring," Leliana replied with a hint of amusement.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, then looked at Vanyssa who, at some point during the conversation, had turned her back on everyone. She reopened the book as if to read it, but the sound of sniffling made it clear that she was crying. That she was usually so stoic and confident made her seem that much smaller in that moment.

"It would seem that book is of great importance to her. As I understand it, the Qunari allow converts to occupy any position if they're deemed qualified. Do you think it's possible she was once one of these Tamassrans?" Cassandra asked.

"Given the language barrier I think it far more likely she was _born_ under the Qun. But yes, if her magic was not discovered I see no reason why she couldn't have been," Leliana said.

"In truth, we know little about Vanyssa. I do not believe we benefit from jumping to conclusions," Solas said. He couldn't outright tell them their theories were incorrect, and he _could_ sympathize with their desire to know the truth, but assuming too much without gathering all the facts first was not how one came to it.

"Agreed. What we _do_ know is that she can read Qunlat. Our next step will be finding a Qunari willing to act as translator," Cassandra said.

"Most Qunari living outside Qunari lands are Tal-Vashoth. They are most commonly found in mercenary bands. Our challenge will not be finding one who can translate, but rather one whose loyalty cannot be bought by the Herald's enemies," Leliana said, then stepped towards the door. "I will have my people look into this at once. In the mean time, Cassandra, I think it best you seek out Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands as we discussed earlier."

"I will leave soon," Cassandra replied as Leliana closed the door behind her. For a moment, it looked as though Cassandra wanted to approach Vanyssa. Instead, she turned to Solas and said, "The maps can wait. I do not wish to embarrass her. There is a box containing her belongings, most of which were confiscated while she was still our prisoner. I will have them sent to her quarters."

With Cassandra gone, Solas was alone with her. "Vanyssa, we don't have to stay here if you don't wish it," he said, taking a few cautious steps towards her.

For a moment, he was unsure if she heard him. Then she glanced over her shoulder at him, stood straight again, and closed the book. "Ohg'z hychuk emjurnai tik fah Dovahkiin fi zue zkaiim ohlm hexooz ezn't ohg? Ayst yis jika," she said, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

Solas stood patiently until Vanyssa collected herself. Her grip on the book tightened the moment she caught him looking at it. He held up one hand defensively and smiled. "You've nothing to fear from me. I am certain you will put it to better use than the Chantry did," he said.

The tone of his response seemed to placate Vanyssa. The two of them exited the war room together in silence. Her pace quickened as they passed the prison door, but beyond that she seemed to be alright. 

By time they emerged from the Chantry, the crowds had long since dispersed. As they walked back to her quarters, he recalled the way she reacted to them. Or more so, the way she _didn't_. If she were surprised or nervous, she gave no indication. Instead she passed through them as if she'd done so a hundred times before. It was as if she were accustomed to such displays. He idly wondered if dragons were worshipped where she came from.

There was a chill in the air, and less light shining down than there should have been at that hour of the day. Solas tilted his head back to look up, and was rewarded with a water drop right in his eye. He blinked a couple times, letting out an irritated sigh. Vanyssa noticed the sudden change in weather too, and awkwardly shoved the book under her shirt. 

"Rain," he said, clapping her on the shoulder, and pointing upward. "Let's hurry." The two of them ran the rest of the way back to the tiny cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are still hectic IRL, but I will continue to do my best with getting new chapters up in a timely fashion. Thanks for all the feedback, everyone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this chapter took much more time to finish than previous chapters. It's bigger and better though, so hopefully that makes up for the long wait. Enjoy!

They hurried into the cottage. When Solas tried to shut the door the first time, it stuck a little. A hard slam on the second try did the trick. Out of habit, Vanyssa immediately searched the ceiling of the cottage for leaks, and was pleased to see there were none. 

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof grew faster and louder by the second. Thanks to the clouds swallowing up the sun, the fire burning in the fireplace was the room's only light. Its flicker stirred the shadows into a haunting sway, and its heat did little to chase the harsh dampness from the air. It felt like a haunted house from one of Vanyssa's childhood books. 

Solas pulled a chair in front of the fireplace, as she searched for a way to make the room feel less creepy. Her eyes rested on the white candle atop the little barrel beside the bed's headboard. The barrel was too close to the bed for her liking. A lit candle that accidentally toppled over could roll onto it and catch the blanket on fire. She lifted the barrel off the floor slightly, then moved it about a foot away. 

The last several generations of Vanyssa's family were candlemakers, so she tended to be more fixated on that sort of thing than most. The family she left behind consisted of her mother, father, and younger sister. Candles were such a normal part of life, they rarely made her think of them. Being in this place wasn't like being in Skyrim though. The option to climb on a horse and return to Jehanna didn't exist here. Then again, if she was brutally honest with herself, the option didn't exist for her in Skyrim either. If it did, she'd have never left in the first place. To be driven from your home and work so hard to make a new home for yourself, only to lose that one as well, was a sad thing.

The wind picked up outside, causing the windows to rattle. The sound brought Vanyssa back to the present. She was about to lift a hand to light the candle when she noticed the room was now full of light. Flames burned from two wall torches, presumably lit by Solas who was now seated comfortably before the fireplace.

Vanyssa pulled the book out from under her shirt. Its cover was light brown leather, lacking any adornment, though the faint scent of incense it carried made it seem special to her somehow. The texture of its pages felt thin and flimsy, as they usually did in old books, but were perfectly intact. Either it was rarely read, or the previous owner took excellent care of it. The title was a mystery to her, and so in her mind she simply thought of it as the _Dragon Book_. When the actual dragons inside of her took notice of this, they made their contempt known. She responded in the dismissive tone they'd grown used to over the years, and all became quiet.

From that angle Solas was seated at, Vanyssa could see the way that the raindrops had dampened the shoulders of his tunic. She frowned for a moment, feeling selfish for not taking notice sooner. Since they met it seemed all he did was look after her. Wanting to return the favor, she placed her book on the table and walked over to the bed. 

"Hey, Solas," she said as she pulled the blanket off the top. When she turned around he was looking up at her. She stepped beside his chair. "You take this off," she said, giving the collar of his tunic a tug. "And wrap this blanket around yourself," she said, waving it around a bit so he'd hopefully know what she meant. Then she turned her head sideways, covered her eyes, and grinned. "I won't peek. I promise."

A few seconds passed. Solas didn't take the offered blanket, and upon uncovering her eyes she saw he hadn't removed the damp tunic either. He spoke a few words with a slight smile, and raised a hand with his palm towards her as if to refuse the blanket. It was impossible to know if he was doing so because he was comfortable as he was, or because he had no idea at all what she was even suggesting. Then he made some weird gestures with his hands that she couldn't understand. One thing was clear; he didn't want the blanket. With a heavy sigh, she balled it up in her hands, turned her back to him, and tossed it back onto the bed. 

It was a hollow friendship, at best. For Solas, one likely born out of pity. For Vanyssa, one born out of necessity. Subtleties in the way he carried himself hinted that he was of noble birth. When he looked down at her, he rarely tilted his head to do so, and when he did it was so slight as to be barely noticeable. His posture was naturally straight, and even when something required him to bend or sway there was always an air of grace about it. The one thing that made it clear to her though, was the way he spoke. Even if she couldn't understand the language, she could hear the difference between him and the people around him; the quiet confidence of one accustomed to being heard. In turn, they seemed to regard his words with respect, even as their eyes regarded _him_ with varying degrees of suspicion. If she could see these things in him, then surely he would see the opposite in her sooner or later. Perhaps he would find her humble upbringing distasteful. Or perhaps there was something about him she'd find distasteful. How often was any noble truly _noble_ , after all? 

Regardless, he seemed to be the only one concerned for her well being. She thought about the way she cried over the book. She'd reached her twentieth year no more than a week before climbing upon Odahviing's back. While she did not think of herself as young anymore, she was a Breton among races of people much larger than hers, and there was an overabundance of mer blood throughout her lineage. If her experiences with Nords were any indication, she was likely being mistaken for a girl in her mid-teens. Too many more outbursts of that sort might cement that belief, leading him to see her less as a worthy companion and more as a burden. In time, he might wish to distance himself from her. Who would she have then? 

If Vanyssa learned anything after absorbing her first dragon soul, it was that becoming an object of reverence didn't make you friends. There would be allies who saw the mutual benefit of an association, and sycophants who hoped that some of her perceived greatness might rub off on them if they got close enough. Her gut said _no_ , or what she liked to think of as "dragon's intuition", but for all she really knew, Solas could be one of the two. 

"Vanyssa?" she heard him call to her. By the sound of it, it was the second or third time he'd done so. She'd been too deep in thought to hear him. When she looked over her shoulder, he was gesturing to the empty space beside his chair. When it was clear she couldn't figure out what he was suggesting, he stood up, walked over to the other chair, and picked it up to bring it over. She gave him a big smile, grabbed her Dragon Book off the table, then sat with him in front of the fire.

"I know you can't understand me, but I really want you to know I'm sorry about earlier," she said, then reached over and took his hand in hers. "I'm going to do my best not to be a nuisance to you, I promise."

* * *

For a moment, Solas worried that the gesture was of an intimate nature, but when he looked at Vanyssa's face he caught no hint of romantic intentions. More so, she seemed desperate to convey something. Normally, he was not open to this sort of contact with people he didn't know well, but these were not normal circumstances. Her hand was small, her grip gentle and warm. He squeezed her hand, then released it. "We will not wait for Leliana to find a Qunari translator. I will begin teaching you the common tongue myself," he said.

She lowered her gaze sadly, no more able to understand him than he could understand her. It was then that he noticed the shoulders of her shirt were, as he suspected, just as wet as his. There was only the one blanket, so he'd refused it so she could use it. During their walk back to the cottage, she was her usual impassive self, but the minute he shut the door something about her changed, or perhaps simply became more apparent. And so he wondered now if her concern for him was greater than for herself, or if she was too distraught to notice she was just as wet as he was.

Or was it that dragons were unaffected by such things?

There was a loud knock at the door. "Ree ez fuch?" Vanyssa whispered.

It was then Solas remembered that Cassandra was returning her belongings. He began to rise to his feet. Before he could stand, however, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair.

"Ayst'no yijuk ohg," she said, then ran to the door and flung it open. On the other side were two human men in plain clothes, each holding the opposite end of a relatively small crate, and clearly straining to do so.

"No, my Lady Herald, that's quite al-" one of the men attempted to object as she gripped the bottom of the crate with both hands and held it to her chest as if it weighed little. She gave them a slight nod. Both bowed to her, clearly embarrassed, then closed the door for her. 

Solas rose from the chair again, and stood beside it, watching the scene at the door. He knew looks could be deceiving, but he and a young, skittish elven woman had been tasked with washing Vanyssa, and dressing her in clean clothes while she was unconscious. While she did indeed have bigger biceps than most women, they were not big enough to explain that great a difference in strength from two grown men nearly twice her size. He thought it likely this was related to her being a dragon. Presently though, she was in elven/dwarven form. The only plausible explanation was magic. Or it would be if he'd seen her cast anything. He let out a small huff in frustration. Were he to unravel this mystery, it would have to stand in line with the rest.

Suddenly, he found the crate demanding his full attention. If the mere weight of it wasn't enough to peak his interest, the magic he could sense emanating from its contents surely was. Vanyssa looked as though she was going to place it on the little table, but then thought better of it and carefully lowered it to the floor. 

Something very long and black was sticking out the top. It was impossible to guess what it was until Vanyssa wrapped one hand around it, and pulled it out: a giant, black warhammer with red accents. The handle was only little more than a foot shorter than she was. For Solas though, it was the particular enchantment placed upon it that set it so far apart from any ordinary weapon. Or, at least, the enchantment he strongly suspected. Stranger still was the way this enchanted item differed from those originating in Thedas. In the latter case, there were always threads of magic that connected them to the Fade, drawing magic from it the way mages did. In the case of the former, the magic within seemed entirely self-contained. The same had been true of the armor she was wearing when she stepped out of the Fade.

Vanyssa took it over to the bed, and gently placed it on the floor beside the headboard with the handle resting upright against the wall. For a moment she merely stood there staring at it. Then she gave the weapon a small, satisfied nod, and returned to the crate.

The appearance of the next item she extracted offered no hint as to what it actually was, but the sight of it elicited a heavy sigh of relief from her. It was made of silver metal, and blue crystal the color of deep mushrooms. Eight appendages jutted from a round center. The overall shape of it reminded Solas of the chantry symbol, and much like her use of ancient Qunlat in the Fade, it made him wonder about the connection between her world and Thedas. Unlike the warhammer, threads of magic most definitely extended from it.

But it was not the Fade they reached out to. 

"Vanyssa," Solas said as she was about to place it on the table. He hesitantly reached a hand toward it, palm up, and asked, "May I?"

She, too, hesitated but then placed it in his hand. "Faij ez Azura'z kyul," she told him, then turned her attention to the remaining items in the crate.

Normally, Solas could get a feel for how old the magic in something was. Even the enchantments upon Vanyssa's armor had a discernable age to them. The magic within this peculiar thing he held seemed to have no age at all. There was something strangely familiar about the vibration of it though, and after a few seconds he understood what it was. 

There was no enchantment. Rather there was power being channeled into it from something else, then returned to the source. It was a foci of some kind. The realization brought a slight tremor to his hands, and before he knew it Vanyssa was standing directly in front of him, gently taking it from him. She placed it on the table.

"Solas usht ceh woipjeg?" she said, the words sounding like they were meant to chastise. Then she clucked her tongue as she gently pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, regarding him as one would a small child who had foolishly spent half his day playing in the snow. 

It occurred to Solas that, all things considered, Vanyssa might be older than him. Nothing about her demeanor hinted at it, but why would it? Everything from her speech to her facial expressions could be part of a persona she cultivated to hide it. He knew better than most, the necessity of such a ruse.

He glanced down at the crate, which was now empty, then over to the bed where her armor rested beside a black mask. His chest suddenly felt tight. Just how long had he been holding the foci for? His intellectual curiosity demanded that he investigate it further, but the thought of touching it again threatened to send him into a panic.

Solas did not panic. And yet there was no getting around it. He was afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on anyone wanting to stay updated on the status of future chapters can visit my new Tumblr at http://kinkmemelurker.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 9

Not long after Vanyssa was done emptying the crate, Solas excused himself. There was no objection on her part. The complexion of the normally fair-skinned Bosmer became even more pale than usual, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. It looked like he needed to lay down. 

Vanyssa's eyes rested on Azura's Star. After the events that led to her acquiring it, she couldn't help but wonder if the Daedric lord made him ill. Azura was considered one of the good Daedric lords, but that was only relative to her Daedric kin. When she felt that someone, or an entire group of someones had wronged her, her wrath was infamous.

In spite of the rain and cloud cover outside, the cottage had grown quite warm. Vanyssa paced back and forth across the hard wood floor, her boots making a light thud with each step. As she did so it occurred to her that, to have been sent to an entirely different world against her will, she was probably the target of someone's ire. And that whoever it was must have been immensely powerful to even know that such a place existed. A list began to form in her head. 

Vanyssa once agreed to do Molag Bal a favor under the threat of remaining trapped in a cage near one of his desecrated altars, but made no attempt to follow through once she escaped. It might have been within his power to do this to her, but it didn't fall in line with what she knew about him. He would want her _suffering_ , not her disappearance.

Hermaeus Mora might have been behind it. The first time Vanyssa encountered him, it was in the middle of a lengthy confrontation with the first Dragonborn, Miraak. The latter had given his soul to the Daedric lord back when dragons still ruled Tamriel. In exchange, Miraak was granted immortality and an honored place in Hermaeus's realm, Apocrypha. Miraak wanted to weasel his way out of the bargain, and Vanyssa would have been more than happy to stand aside and let him. Unfortunately, he viewed her as a competitor of some kind, and sent swarms of his followers to Skyrim to collect her head. She was left with little choice but to forge a temporary alliance with Hermaeus in order to put him down for good. When the Daedric lord struck the killing blow, he wished for Vanyssa to take Miraak's place. She refused.

It didn't end there. Months later, when Vanyssa needed to enter Blackreach to obtain an Elder Scroll in her quest to kill Alduin, Hermaeus Mora made a second bid for her soul. And again, she refused. She denied him nothing else that he desired though, so this was a bit extreme for a punishment.

The more Vanyssa thought about it, the more it seemed unlikely that sending her to Thedas was someone's act of vengeance. No, more likely this was done to get her out of the way. Who needed her gone _and_ had the power to make it so? 

Minutes ticked by. Vanyssa stopped pacing, and stared into the fire. Only one name came to mind, and if it was the right one, not only was this situation her own fault, Skyrim was doomed regardless of Alduin's demise. The possibility was too much to bare. She promptly pushed it out of her mind, and began searching the room for something to distract herself with. 

The first place Vanyssa looked to was the Dragon Book, still resting on the seat of the chair where she left it when the crate was delivered. Perhaps if she read more of it, it might start making sense to her. She snatched it from the chair, and sat back down with it. Some words were similar enough to words she knew to make sense. Most words didn't. Her mother owned a lengthy book about Mother Mara, which she used to teach her how to read when she was little. The few phrases she could understand in the Dragon Book reminded her of it; words of wisdom about having a balanced outlook on life, and the importance of children. The language the book was written in may have enthralled her, but assuming her translations were accurate the content was dull and disappointing.

The pitter patter of rain on the cottage roof stopped. Alone inside, there was little for Vanyssa to occupy herself with. She considered taking a walk around the surrounding area. The problem was she worried that her belongings would be stolen from her again if she left them unattended. She could put her armor on, strap her warhammer to her back, and carry the rest in her backpack as she did on her journey to Sovngarde, but Daedric armor was not the most comfortable thing to take a stroll in. That and, even to people in Tamriel who knew what it was, it looked scary. She could only imagine the thoughts it conjured up in the minds of those who'd never seen its like before. Without the ability to tell people otherwise, they might jump to the conclusion that she meant to attack someone.

Vanyssa found herself wondering if reading out loud from the Dragon Book earlier would even have the desired impact. Perhaps the only people in Thedas who spoke the dragon tongue lived on the other side of the world. Perhaps it wasn't spoken conversationally anymore. It was also possible that, as in Tamriel, only dragons and a rare few mortals understood any of it. However, given how relatively new the Dragon Book was, that didn't seem likely. The only thing she could feel certain of at this point was that nobody in this little, makeshift village spoke it.

Finally, she decided to go out, but she'd remain close enough that nobody could sneak through the cottage door without her noticing. The sun was setting. When she looked up at the sky she noticed the Oblivion gate was still very much present. If the lack of unpleasant throbbing in her hand was any indication, the gate was closed, or at the very least not spitting out anymore daedra.

_Demons._

The memory of the wolf from the Fade returned to her. The creatures that emerged from the gates looked like the ones from that same world of dreams. If that was where they originated from, then perhaps they were actually _Fade_ gates. What would it mean for Thedas, that portals to that world were appearing? Were these so-called demons creating them, or was a person to blame?

Between the storm earlier, and the partially melted snow, the ground was muddy. Every step Vanyssa took made a squishing noise beneath her boots. As she looked around, she realized there wasn't a single Altmer, Dunmer, Orc, Khajiit, or Argonian in sight since she woke up in Thedas. It was possible none existed in this world, but that seemed a ridiculous idea to her. More likely, there were either none living in this region, or none permitted in this village.

There was nothing noteworthy about the area surrounding Vanyssa's cottage; just a lot of barrels, boxes, and logs stacked here and there. She soon grew bored, and went back inside. For a long while, she sat in front of the fire with the Dragon Book. Partly it was for the sense of comfort it brought, and partly it was because she had nothing better to do. At some point, the skittish Bosmer woman returned with a tray of food, and a large mug of water. The former was a bowl of oatmeal, which Vanyssa eagerly polished off in spite of its blandness. The water tasted cleaner than she expected it to. When she was finished, she found herself yawning.

Night came. This would be Vanyssa's first time putting herself into a bed to go to sleep since she found herself in Thedas. Her first thought was that maybe she should check on Solas to see if he was ok, but she didn't even know where to begin looking for him. She hoped to see him again tomorrow.

* * *

Solas laid on his bed, atop the sheet and blanket. He was fatigued, but not sleepy. The tiny cottage Cassandra assigned to him was quiet and peaceful; his mind, not so much. It was apparent enough that Vanyssa's foci had an ill effect on it, but he found that even contemplating the matter caused him inexplicable anxiety. He thought that perhaps encountering an unfamiliar foci was simply enough to disturb him so. 

There were three potential explanations. The least sinister was that Vanyssa was a high ranking priestess who was entrusted with the safe-keeping of her god's foci. Were that the case, the mistreatment she received upon arriving in this world could have dire consequences should her god feel slighted by it. Indeed, there were once gods in Thedas who would have killed a mortal simply for handling their foci without permission. 

Second explanation: Vanyssa was not a priestess, but a _thief_ who stole the foci from a god in her world, then fled to this one. That would mean she was powerful enough to travel between the two at will. Until now, Solas assumed Corypheus was responsible for bringing her to Thedas. Perhaps the timing was a coincidence.

The third explanation, Solas liked the least: Vanyssa _was_ the god the foci belonged to. Were that the case, it was every bit as likely she had the power to travel between worlds. If Corypheus brought her here, what were his intentions toward her? Did he think to steal her power? Form an alliance with her? In the lingering vision, he ordered someone to kill her. If he meant to achieve the latter, he clearly failed. While those possibilities existed regardless of whether or not she was a god, they were far more troubling if she was. With that kind of power in his grasp or at his side, Corypheus would truly be unstoppable.

And if Vanyssa brought _herself_ here, what was the purpose? Her world- what had she called it in the Fade? _Tamriel._ Were there other gods there who turned on her? Did she simply desire new followers? It was almost too much to hope that she watched Thedas from her world, that she saw what Corypheus had in store for this one, and that she actually came to stop him.

While there was no harm in contemplating any of these possibilities, Solas refused to foolishly jump to conclusions the way Leliana and Cassandra did. He would take the logical approach of fact gathering and patience. Any meaningful communication with Vanyssa was off the table for the time being, and approaching her in the Fade a second time was off the table permanently, but he wondered if there was a _third_ option. There may be little risk in requesting help from the spirits of the Fade he called friends. He would look into it once sleep took him.

* * *

There was less confusion, and no trace of disorientation, upon Vanyssa's return to the Fade. Finding herself inside a dragon's body didn't frighten her this time. Instead she was excited, and only a little anxious. She stood up, and gave her wings an experimental flap. She took a step, and then another. It was soon apparent that her lack of experience in this body was what made moving in it so awkward, not its foreignness. It gave her a sort of clumsy uncertainty, but with a few more steps she overcame it. Curiously, she lifted one of her front legs to examine it, then craned her neck around to look at her tail. What she wouldn't have given for a giant mirror!

Tiny entities started gathering from a safe distance to peer at her. Unlike those she encountered her last time here, most of them were not the monstrosities that poured out of the Fade gates, but rather creatures that resembled apparitions of different colors, mostly green. These were presumably the spirits the wolf claimed she'd see if she didn't expect them to be demons. Granted the wolf could have been lying through its fangs, but it was all the information she had to go on. Until she could establish some sort of rapport with the denizens of the Fade, his advice would have to do. Indeed, she didn't even fully understand what a demon was, and only expected them on her previous visit because she'd just been fighting them moments before waking. The ones she saw now remained further away than the spirits, their movements more cautious and fearful. She hoped that they remained such.

The earthy scent of grass and dried leaves filled Vanyssa's nostrils. This part of the Fade was a grove of dying trees with crystal balls hanging from the branches. They were rooted so close together she found it difficult to venture forward. When she tried to turn around her tail got caught in one of the trees behind her. With a sideways twist of her body, and a hard tug of her tail, she got it loose. 

The crystal balls from the offending tree went flying everywhere. A spirit looming about somewhere behind Vanyssa let out an annoyed squeal at getting pelted in the face by one of them. Another landed on her scaly snout. It was only when she could see one this close that she discerned its true nature. They were not crystal balls, but crystal _skulls_. She tilted her head sideways, letting it fall to the ground.

Facing this new direction, she saw a clearing with a large, white, narrow box positioned in the center. With slow, cautious steps, she drew closer. Some of the fallen skulls crunched beneath her feet, but her dragon skin was too thick to be cut by the broken pieces. Upon reaching the box, she could see it was actually a coffin. This raised a question she hadn't yet considered. 

Could people die in the Fade?

Or, perhaps the white coffin was empty. 

Carefully, she extended a claw from one of her front paws and tried to open it. The first attempt almost knocked the coffin on its side. The second attempt yielded success. She wished it hadn't. Her tiny, Breton body laid inside, wearing a plain, gray dress that was far too big for her. When she brought her head down for a closer inspection, the eyes suddenly popped open. A small stream of blood flowed from each one.

With a blink of her own eyes, Vanyssa found herself back in her bed inside the cottage. It took a moment for her to process what just happened. Once she did, her entire body started shaking. Strange and frightening dreams were nothing new to her, but in the Fade it was different. She could smell, and think, and experience every detail of her surroundings. And unlike a normal dream, the memory felt as real as any cultivated in the waking world. Exhausted, she pulled the blanket up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling, unsure if she wanted to fall asleep again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something lighthearted before we arrive in angst city. As always, big thanks to my beta reader. Enjoy!

By morning, Solas felt fully recovered from his encounter with Vanyssa's foci. He washed up quickly, and went to her cottage. As he hoped, she was in the middle of eating breakfast when he arrived. He wasted no time beginning her lessons in the common tongue, teaching her the words for everything from the food on her plate, to the utensils and the plate itself. She wouldn't remember all of it on the first day, of course. Repetition was key. 

Whether Vanyssa was eager to learn, or simply eager for company, Solas couldn't tell, but she approached the lessons enthusiastically. Although she was hesitant to leave her cottage, once they were out exploring Haven her bright attitude only seemed to increase. The apothecary, Adan, had hinted at wanting a recipe for lyrium potions recovered from the previous apothecary's abandoned home, so there was a brief trek into the woods as well. On the whole, none of their destinations were particularly interesting, but she didn't seem to mind; at least not for the first few hours.

In the late afternoon, they were walking past the little tavern Flissa threw together, at Leliana's behest, to keep up morale. Vanyssa's pace was slowing, and the attention she gave to the lessons seemed more like an effort to humor Solas than to learn. While it was unclear if she knew what the place was from the outside, she insisted on going in. It was the only thing she asked for since he met with her in the morning, so he reluctantly agreed. When they entered, they found Varric at a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by people eagerly listening to him.

"...Her family didn't approve of her giving birth to a half-elven baby, and forced her to abandon her in the Deep Roads. Fortunately for the Herald, she was adopted by a plucky family of deepstalkers who taught her their secret language," Varric said.

"I ain't ever heard a deepstalker talk," said a dwarven man sitting across from him.

"That's because they only communicate in _secret_ ," Varric replied.

"Then how come _you_ know about it?"

"As you're all already aware, my brother and I led an expedition into the Deep Roads once, accompanied by Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. While exploring together, Hawke and I happened upon some chatty deepstalkers. They were so deep in conversation, they didn't notice us at first, and were quite embarrassed once they did," Varric explained, then added, "Little known fact: they were originally called deep _talkers_ , but the shaperate took offense to persistent rumors of them being more articulate than us, so they decided to throw an _'s'_ in."

Solas cleared his throat loudly. Varric looked up, and grinned at the two newcomers, then told the crowd, "We'll continue this story tomorrow." Then he waved the pair over, and said, "Pull up a seat, Chuckles. You too, Pokey."

The crowd dispersed. Vanyssa happily sat in a chair beside Varric, but Solas stood at the other side of the table, glaring down at him.

"I know that look, Chuckles," said Varric.

"Have you considered how Vanyssa might feel about you telling such tales about her?" Solas asked.

"Do you seriously think anyone walked away from this table believing she was raised by deepstalkers?" Varric replied, then sighed and lowered his voice. "Look, most of the folks here at Haven believe the Maker created her with his own two hands, then drop-kicked her out of the Fade to save us all from the Breach. But some folks still see a scary dwarfy elven apostate in scary black armor who speaks a scary-sounding language that nobody recognizes. Telling ridiculous, heart-warming stories about a tiny, defenseless baby abandoned by her mommy, and surviving against all odds- it makes her less scary," Varric said.

"I see your point," Solas replied, his expression softening as he took a seat across from Varric.

"You ok, Pokey?" Varric asked, tilting his head to the side, and snapping his fingers to get Vanyssa's attention. "You look like you could use a drink." He turned to Solas. "How about you? You're not looking a whole lot better."

"I do not think it is wise for either of us to spend a great deal of time in here, Varric."

"Oh, please, like you've got something better to do," he replied.

"I spent the morning leading her around Haven, teaching her words from the common tongue. It is imperative that we establish better communication with her as quickly as possible."

"Shit, Pokey, it's no wonder you look bored," Varric said, then got out of his chair, and gestured for Vanyssa to follow him. "Let's get you liquored up."

"Varric!" Solas said, raising his voice slightly.

"What? There are plenty of words she can learn in here," he said, then led Vanyssa to the counter, and introduced her to Flissa. "She's the barmaid. _Barr-mayd_."

"Barmaid!" Vanyssa repeated.

"I do hope she closes the Breach soon," Flissa said nervously.

"Not to worry, Flissa. Chuckles spent all morning teaching the Herald how to shout at it in the common tongue. She'll have it gone in no time."

After Flissa served their drinks, Varric taught Vanyssa how to say _mug_ and _ale_.

"Chuckles, you sure you don't want a drink?" 

"I am certain that I do not."

Varric turned to Vanyssa, and lowered his voice. "You see that busty brunette seated over there in the corner reading a book, Pokey? Her name is Lottie. Officially, she's here selling herbs, or textiles, or _something_. Unofficially, she's hear to provide services the chantry tends to frown upon. She's called a prostitute. _Prau-sti-toot_ ," he said.

"Prostitute!"

Lottie looked up from her book, rolled her eyes at Varric, then slammed it shut, and approached the table. "Don't listen to him, sweety."

"Hey!" Varric shouted with an amused grin.

Lottie ignored him, and sat in the chair across from Vanyssa. "The proper word is 'courtesan'. _Cort-a-saun_ ," she said.

"Vugims, Courtesan. Ayst yis, Vanyssa," she replied, extending her hand.

Lottie chuckled, and shook her head. "No, courtesan is a job title," she told her, then pointed at herself. "My name is _Lottie_."

"Vugims, Lottie," she said, at which point Lottie shook her hand. "What courtesan?"

"What _is a_ courtesan?" Lottie corrected.

Vanyssa repeated the question. Lottie and Varric did their best to explain it with a pantomime that eventually involved a sock, a broom stick, and a coin purse.

Solas let out a heavy sigh, then rose from his seat.

"Where are you going, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

"I need a drink."

When Solas returned, Lottie was gone. Varric and Vanyssa's mugs of ale had bits of ice in them. The former held his mug close to his face, eyeing it curiously, then took a sip. "It ain't half bad like this," he said.

Vanyssa pointed at her mug, then pointed at Solas's mug, and wiggled her fingers. "No need," he said, shaking his head. 

"Earlier, I saw Cassandra stomping through Haven with a gaggle of soldiers in tow. It looked like she was leaving. Have any idea where she was off to?" Varric asked Solas.

"A chantry mother in the Hinterlands wants to meet the 'Herald of Andraste'. For obvious reasons, Cassandra thought it best to go in her place," he replied.

"Yeah, shit. That doesn't sound like a trap at all," said Varric sarcastically.

"Leliana thinks it unlikely this woman has any ill intent, but she seems heavily biased when it comes to the chantry," Solas said.

"Nah, according to my spy network _her_ spy network is good. If she says it's safe to meet with her, it probably is," Varric said.

The number of people in the tavern fluctuated every half of an hour or so. The mark on Vanyssa's hand made it easy for them to recognize her. She seemed aware of the many eyes on her, but not bothered. A few brave souls tried to speak to her. Solas was surprised, and somewhat amused, by how willing people were to concoct their own explanations for her unknown language. 

"Maybe the Maker has his _own_ language. Do you reckon he'll want us all to learn it now that she's here? Not so great at speaking common as it is," one said.

"Bet she comes from somewhere across the sea that ain't been discovered yet. Only goes to show the Maker sent her to us. Couldn't have got here any other way," another said.

Solas remained as quiet and observant while drunk as he was while sober. His thoughts drifted back and forth between the present and the past; people he shared drinks with long ago, and the way they would react if they could see him reduced to one trapped on the outside looking in.

The more ale Varric and Vanyssa drank, the more silly their antics became. Fortunately, the more ale Solas drank, the less irritated he was. He even managed a small smile when they decided to have a mock duel with a pair of ladles that Flissa helpfully provided. A trio of intoxicated chantry sisters started taking bets on who would win. It ended with the ladle-wielding warriors awkwardly knocking each other on the floor at the same time, and declaring it a tie. 

As the light shining through the windows dimmed, Flissa started lighting candles throughout the tavern. The warmth from the tiny flames became more welcome as midnight approached. Varric and Vanyssa returned to their seats, and spent a good half hour or so making obscene shadow puppets. 

When the latter grew bored with that, she put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Solas suddenly noticed she was staring at his face. She let out a long sigh as her eyes grew wider. "Ceh usht fah nime romuhi Bosmer ohlm fah senvu doyt bukoy," she said, shaking her head slightly.

"Aww, don't worry about Chuckles. He _always_ looks constipated," Varric told her.

Vanyssa smiled at Solas, scooted her chair closer to his, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. "Uquai himi uquai ayst wen elujkyl difufok fah rumi ohg ez ceh'sht huldim cun'sht tivim fi zuft suloxux," she said to Solas in a jovial manner, but then started to fight back tears. "Ishi suloxim ez tivim fi zue _kue_ wailsteni."

Presumably out of sadness or embarrassment, Vanyssa inched away from Solas and covered her face with both hands. Varric slid out of his chair, stepped beside her, and gently patted her back. "There, there. I worry about his bowels exploding too," he said in a comforting tone.

Solas gave Varric an annoyed glare. 

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to say? I don't know why she's upset, do you?"

The way Vanyssa's mood was erratically changing told Solas it was time to call it a night. "No more ale. Back to cottage," he said, making a point of using simple sentences with words she learned that day. Although she was likely too inebriated to understand him, when he rose from his chair she attempted to do the same, but fell back down.

Solas and Vanyssa both swayed on their feet, but the latter more so, which made sense given she'd had three times as much to drink. He let her lean on him as he led her to her cottage, until her weight unexpectedly shifted in a way that sent them both crashing to the ground. He was lucky enough to land on his knees, while she was unfortunate enough to land face-first.

"Ceh'sht fah bishkee quaejcarl ufok ulx usht ruijzok wusnukux emvog fi yuima nai yehols," Vanyssa grumbled.

When Solas got to his feet, he tried to help Vanyssa do the same, but could barely coax any movement from her. Leaving her in the snow too long wouldn't be good for her health, so he hastily threw her over his shoulder. 

"If there is vomit running down my back before the night is over, I will never forgive you."


	11. Chapter 11

When Vanyssa woke up, she was face down in the grass. Then she remembered it was the snow she fell down in. The contradiction of waking up in the Fade every time she fell asleep wasn't something she was used to yet. She stood up and, much to her dismay, found herself surrounded by dead trees again. There were no crystal skulls hanging from them this time though. Instead there were little balls of flame resting on random branches which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be burning nests. A small, furry, red critter with a long, hairless tail ran past one of her front paws, followed by two smaller ones. Were those possums?

Suddenly, it seemed unwise to move. It was Vanyssa's first time encountering a sentient thing here besides the spirits, unless she counted the red-eyed wolf. Might she step on one she couldn't see? Could she kill one? She killed plenty of wild animals for food or fur, or in self-defense, but she did not like the prospect of stomping a harmless one to death without need.

A green spirit in the distance caught Vanyssa's attention. Something about it looked odd, but she couldn't figure out what it was until it was closer. This spirit had a solid body with arms, and legs with feet that touched the ground, like a person. When it stopped in front of her, she could see it had ears and a face like an elf, and an hourglass figure. 

"Are you a spirit, or are you asleep like me?"

"Spirit," it replied. "I am called Wisdom."

"Did your mother name you that? Mine named me Vanyssa, but she usually just calls me a pain in the ass."

- _used to call me,_ Vanyssa silently corrected herself.

"I am called Wisdom because, well, I guess you could say knowledge and learning are my areas of interest," it said.

"I see," Vanyssa replied awkwardly, then looked around. "Your knowledge wouldn't happen to extend to giant creatures like myself walking around _without_ getting our tails caught in trees and crushing fuzzy critters, would it?"

"Ah, it is your wish to embrace a smaller form while here then?"

"Not all the time, no. But maybe sometimes," Vanyssa said.

"I can teach you this. Have you ever turned into a smaller thing while you are awake?" it asked.

"I _am_ a smaller thing while I'm awake," she replied. 

"Then this lesson should not take long at all," it said with an air of enthusiasm.

Over the course of many evenings, Wisdom not only taught her how to become Breton at will, but gradually confirmed all that the red-eyed wolf told her about the Fade. The lessons on changing form and avoiding "demon possession" were more useful than harmful. Conversing with someone capable of speaking her language wasn't a bad thing either. She could almost pretend she was in Tamriel again.

Wisdom also taught Vanyssa about the ever-changing landscape, or “dreamscape” as the spirit preferred, since it was not truly land. It was a thing dictated by the dreamer’s mind. No matter how strange or illogical it appeared to be, there was a meaning behind every backdrop, every object, and every color. While usually direct, Wisdom took a different approach to Vanyssa's questions about the meanings. Instead of outright telling her what she wanted to know, the spirit would ask _her_ question after question until she produced her own answer. It was an approach she found frustrating, and she eventually stopped asking about the dreamscape altogether.

There were times Wisdom would ask Vanyssa questions about herself as well. Where did she come from? How did it come to be that she was both a dragon and a person? 

At other times, Wisdom seemed to know things about Vanyssa she hadn't shared. It was unsettling to think the spirit could read her mind, or even sense secrets about her it ought not to. As far as she could tell, it was no more trustworthy than the wolf. Humoring the former with conversation proved useful, but there was only so much she was willing to reveal about herself. In response, the spirit's visits with her became less frequent.

The most disturbing dreamscape Vanyssa was greeted by when arriving in the Fade started out quite pleasantly: an orchard of ripe, green apples. She reverted to her Breton self so that she could comfortably walk among the trees. Wisdom stepped out from behind one of them.

"Hello," Vanyssa said, smiling politely as she approached the spirit. "I haven't seen you in a while. How have you been?"

"I am well," Wisdom replied. "And you?"

"The same, I suppose." Vanyssa paused, expressionless. "Are there other sleeping people you visit?"

"There are, indeed. There is much to learn from them," it told her.

Vanyssa idly plucked one of the apples off a nearby tree branch. It felt firm in her hand and smelled fresh, but when she sank her teeth into the fruit it rapidly transformed into a hissing snake the same pink shade as the oversized, hairless rodents that scurried around the edges of the Thedas village she lived in. She dropped the half of the snake that remained in her hand, and spit the wriggling tail out of her mouth. Both turned into small lumps of red-tinted ash as they hit the ground. She stepped away from them, covered the lower half of her face with both hands, and shook her head in disbelief.

"Wisdom, what does that mean?" she blurted out, then dropped her arms to her sides.

"It depends. Why do you think an apple would look green rather than red?" it asked.

"Ugh, _this_ again," Vanyssa replied, rolling her eyes. "Forget I asked."

* * *

For all of Solas's knowledge, he did not know the best way to teach someone a second language, especially when he did not share one with them. It was a labor of trial and error. One thing became clear early on: there were words Vanyssa needed to learn that couldn't be taught by pointing at things in Haven. It was fortunate that Josephine, the Inquisition's ambassador, was able to procure a small booklet of sketching paper. In it, Solas drew basic concepts like _family_ and _relationships_. He learned some things about Vanyssa in the process. She had a sister, and parents who still lived. They were all candlemakers, and Vanyssa had once been one as well. Then she taught Solas a word from her language, _ixun_. It meant sad; how she felt when she talked about the people she left behind.

In that moment, Solas realized there was a selfish part of him that had hoped Vanyssa was without living relatives or close friends before coming to Thedas. This was not a hope born from a need for her to be spared the heartache of losing them, but his own need to be spared the _guilt_ of her separation from them. There was no longer room for comforting self-delusions; in the role he played in bringing her to Thedas, he did her no favors.

Solas taught Vanyssa the words for humans, elves, dwarves, and qunari. In her language, they were called peozi, bosmer, dwemer, and xivilai. The lesson seemed a success until Vanyssa tried to describe herself as half-elf and half- _human_ rather than _dwarf_. Attempts to correct her mix-up of the two only made her more and more frustrated. It was unusual for her to react that way when he pointed out a mistake, but it did not occur to him that the humans and elves of her world could be so different that they would produce a child who looked like her. Instead he assumed she was having a bad day, and cut the lesson short.

* * *

Now that Vanyssa was more familiar with the village, she took the lead whenever Solas accompanied her for a walk. She wanted to take him to a pretty clearing she found in the woods a few days prior, so they could build a snow-woman together, like she and her little sister used to when they were children. It would probably make her more homesick, but she liked the thought of doing it with him anyway. 

Unfortunately, the plan was thwarted by one of those women who wore the white robes and funny-looking red hats. The woman spoke unfamiliar words to Vanyssa, then to Solas. Somewhere in the midst of her rambling, she used a word that either meant _injury_ or _pain_.

Funny Garb Woman practically _dragged_ the two of them through the village until they reached a cluster of small tents and bleeding soldiers haphazardly arranged on cots. There'd been some sort of massacre. Vanyssa tried to ask Solas what happened, but she didn't understand his answer. At present the most important thing was treating the most severely injured of the lot, so rather than dwelling on how they ended up that way, she got straight to work.

In truth, Vanyssa would have preferred using her warhammer to pound on more of the giant, hairy beasts that roamed the woods in small herds outside the village over playing the role of healer again. Still it was good to be doing something useful besides language lessons and dragging carcasses to what was presumably the butcher. While she was treating her eighth soldier, a different Funny Garb Woman tried to give her a flask of blue liquid. It looked like a magicka potion, but the smell of it was foul. Either the magicka potion had gone bad, or it was a different concoction altogether. Either way, she wasn't willing to taste it. This seemed to trigger an intense discussion between Different Funny Garb Woman and Solas, but her own attention remained focused on the unconscious woman laid out on the cot before her.

It was impossible to cast a spell without thinking about the glowing green mark, partly because of where it was located, and partly because of the way it interacted with her magicka. It was as if the mark was trying to block it, or dampen it, or compete with it somehow. This was not so much a hindrance that she couldn't perform magick, but enough to make it unpleasant. What was worse was her inability to control the mark, or even understand it. She could, of course, will it to close a Fade gate, but the mark's very presence on and within her body was _against_ her will. And magick was an integral part of every Breton's identity, even for those like her family who only used simple, practical spells passed down from one generation to the next. To have her use of magick threatened was troubling.

The green mark's intrusion reminded Vanyssa of her early childhood, feeling bigger than her body and not knowing why; waiting for wings that never grew in, and believing her body hated her. Surely it _must_ have hated her if it chose to be so small, and to keep her pinned to the ground. When she learned she was dragonborn, then she understood. She was relieved. She was appreciated by the people around her for who she was, not in spite of it. She could accept herself.

But now her body was turning on her again; was incomprehensible again.

_I shouldn't-_

"Vanyssa," she heard Solas say, then felt his hand resting on her shoulder. The woman she'd been healing had long since risen from her cot, and returned to the tents where the soldiers slept.

* * *

When Fen'Harel entered the Fade that evening, he was inside a cottage identical to the one he occupied in Haven. The only thing out of place was him: a giant, black wolf with six red eyes. It was within his power to shape his corner of the Fade into something more grand; more beautiful. This place was less complicated though, and somewhere deep inside himself it was all he believed he deserved.

There was a soft, familiar knock on the door.

"Enter," he called out.

Wisdom let itself in. They exchanged greetings. Then Fen'Harel became Solas. He and Wisdom sat on the edge of his bed, two ancient entities, side by side.

For a while, no words were exchanged. They simply enjoyed the quiet, and the company of a dear friend. It was Wisdom who finally spoke.

"You are eager for news about your girl," it said.

"I am not so impatient that I cannot wait until you are ready," Solas replied.

Wisdom scoffed. "If only the same could be said for _her_. She demands answers from me that I cannot give with certainty, and refuses to provide any to the questions you wished me to ask."

Solas reached for Wisdom's hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I take it you have nothing new to share with me then," he said.

"I believe she is in love with someone, but I cannot be certain," Wisdom said.

"Was a name given?"

"No."

Solas thought on it for a moment. "I do not believe she has shown that sort of affection for anyone in Haven. Given how short her time in this world has been, I think it much more likely her heart belongs to someone from her own," he replied.

"Perhaps."

"Do you disagree?"

"I cannot be certain," Wisdom repeated.

Solas nodded.

"Unless you have further need of it, I do not wish to spend more time with her," it said.

"If Vanyssa has shown so little gratitude for your help, I can hardly blame you. I will not ask it of you again."

* * *

The following morning, Solas meant to go straight to Vanyssa's cottage, but before he had the chance to vacate his own he heard a loud knock on the door. Adan wanted help brewing health potions. There'd been a well-organized bandit attack on one of the paths leading up to Haven the day before, and now the Inquisition was understocked. He didn't care for Adan, but given the circumstances it was only reasonable for the man to seek assistance. Although Solas found the thought of spending half the day cooped up with him distasteful, he agreed.

It was late afternoon when they finished. Solas eagerly said farewell, then headed straight to Vanyssa's cottage. It was empty which, at this hour of the day, meant she was in the tavern. He wondered if perhaps she was enjoying a break from his company. Not that he thought she disliked him, but even still it might not hurt to let her have some time to herself. 

Unfortunately, after hours of listening to Adan's complaining and sniping at every poor soul forced to converse with him, Solas _did_ want a drink. On the bright side, while he was no rogue, he could be stealthy when the situation called for it. The tavern was full, and by sticking near the walls he remained unnoticed by Varric and Vanyssa. They sat in two chairs pulled so close together that they repeatedly nudged each other with their elbows. The new leather coat Vanyssa wore was a shade like Varric's, and no doubt crafted from one the many dead druffalo she dragged into Haven over the past few weeks. As usual, the dwarf was spinning a yarn that drew a crowd around him. There was too much chatter in the room for Solas to hear it from where he stood, but he could see him playfully tap the tip of Vanyssa's nose, and the smile that spread across her face. Then she reached over, and ruffled up his hair until it was sticking out all over. This made them both laugh.

Solas's gaze drifted from one end of the tavern to the other. Most of the faces were recognizable, but most of the names attached to them were unknown to him. When his attention returned to Varric and Vanyssa, the she was pretending to have fallen asleep with her head resting sideways on his shoulder. Varric clutched his chest, pretending to be hurt by her lack of interest in his story. Then Vanyssa threw her arms around his neck, pretending she was sorry. He hugged her back.

_Ah. It is Varric she has her heart set on._

This realization triggered a flurry of emotions in Solas. The potential union didn't make him happy, but she was an adult, and Varric didn't seem the sort of man who would exploit her. Unless the latter proved otherwise, it was not his place to object no matter how much he wished to.

The night suddenly felt later than it was. Solas swallowed down the remaining contents of his mug, placed it on the counter for Flissa to collect, then turned to leave.

"Solas!" he heard Vanyssa calling from behind him. The other voices in the tavern were loud enough for him to pretend he didn't hear her without hurting her feelings. He let himself out, and closed the door behind him.

Alas, escape was impossible. Vanyssa followed Solas out of the tavern. He could hear her calling his name again, and the sound of her hurried footsteps trudging through the thick layer of snow that covered the ground. He smiled as he turned to face her.

"Good evening, Vanyssa."

"Good evening, Solas," she replied, then frowned. "Said right?"

"Yes, you said it perfectly. Well done," he said.

Vanyssa clasped her hands together in front of herself, beaming proudly. "Walk, please?" she asked, placing a hand under his elbow.

He nodded. "Of course."

It was not the sort of leisurely walk they normally took together. Vanyssa was leading Solas somewhere. He followed in silence until they neared the edge of Haven where the forest began. "It is late to be venturing into the woods," he said, patting her arm. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Snow-woman," she said as she bent over and scooped up a mess of it in her hands. "You and I make _snow-woman_ , please?"

Given the hour, and the recent bandit-attack, Solas was inclined to object. Then he realized it was the only time they could do so with any degree of privacy. His senses were keen enough to prevent anything dangerous from sneaking up on them. It would not be an unenjoyable thing. For a moment he tried to recall the name of a woman he built an ice sculpture with when he was a young man, but only the color of her pale, golden hair returned to him. Then he pushed the vague memory aside, and smiled at Vanyssa.

"Alright," he said.

As the clusters of trees grew thicker, there was less moonlight to see by. He began to wonder how much further she wanted to go before choosing a spot.

"Solas," she said, placing her free hand on his chest to stop him. "Eyes?" She pointed a finger at one of his. "Why eyes like Khajiit?"

"Khajiit?" he repeated.

Vanyssa scrunched up her face like she was wont to do when she was struggling to remember a word she needed. Then she sighed, either giving up or realizing she hadn't learned it yet. Instead, she pointed at his eyes again, said "like Khajiit," then pointed at her own and said "not like Khajiit".

Then he understood. She was night-blind like a human. It seemed odd given that neither of her parents would have been burdened with such a defect. Perhaps one of them was half-human. Or perhaps her world didn't suffer the same racial biases of Thedas, and everyone intermingled freely enough for the trait to be common.

"Make good," Vanyssa said.

Solas watched her cup her hands together, and felt the crackle of her magic in the air as a small, glowing blue sphere took form. It was veilfire without the fire, having no need for a wick or torch; a veil _orb_. Instead it was drawing magical energy from the same place she drew hers. "You and I see," she said, then stretched her hands out, urging him to take it.

There was a subtle warmth, and a slight vibration emanating from the veilorb. To hold the magic of another world in his hands was a marvel he never imagined possible. He wondered what other unique forms it could take. She created a second one for herself, then continued leading him until they reached a small clearing.

One by one, Vanyssa created more veilorbs, arranging them on the tips of tree branches until the clearing was bathed in a blue gleam. Then she knelt in the snow, and Solas understood she meant to build this snow-woman with her hands. In a different time and place, he'd have built it entirely with magic. If she didn't know how, or didn't care to, then he didn't mind meeting her halfway.

Only now did Solas realize how much he missed using magic in such an easy-going manner with someone who was neither frightened by it, nor ashamed of it. Even the previous day, when she was healing soldiers in the midst of templars and chantry sisters, the way she cast her healing spells was neither timid nor defiant. It was as casual as sitting down for a meal or scratching an itch; the sort of nonchalance that spoke of life in a world in which magic was normal. He envied her obliviousness to how life in Thedas worked. It would not last.

Little by little, the base of the snow-woman grew higher. Vanyssa used her hands to pile up the snow, and pack it down tight. Solas used magic to smooth out the shape. While doing so, it occurred to him this was the first fun thing they'd done together that didn't involve total inebriation. For a moment, they both paused in their task and smiled at one another. He could get used to this, he thought.

As they neared the top of the humble sculpture, Solas was struck by an idea.

"Vanyssa, close your eyes," he said. She squinted at him instead.

He demonstrated the difference between "open eyes" and "close eyes" with his own, then asked her again. This time she understood, even covering them with her hands for good measure.

"No need," he said, gently pulling her arms outward like they were when she presented him with the veilorb. Then he untied her hair, and arranged it around her shoulders. She scowled at this.

"Ah, that will not do," he said, stepping in front of her. "Smile."

She opened her eyes to squint up at him again. He smiled, and repeated the word, then placed an index finger on each corner of her mouth, persuading her to do the same.

"Now close your eyes again," he said.

She let out a dramatic sigh, but complied.

"Thank you," he said, then stepped back.

_Perfect._

The face was given shape, the hair a texture, the dress a pattern that looked like vines stretching down from the waist. Then the entire sculpture was given a glassy ice finish. Solas turned around to retrieve the finishing touch: the veilorb Vanyssa gifted to him earlier. He placed it in the snow-woman's outstretched hands. The end result was crude for his taste, but the ethereal quality of the blue light reflecting off its surface made up for its shortcomings. For how little time he'd had to work with, it was impressive.

Solas stepped beside her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Open your eyes, Vanyssa."

She did. After blinking a few times to adjust them to the light, they grew wide. She smiled. 

"Me?" she asked, pointing at the snow-woman.

"Yes, I modelled it after you" he said, watching her eyes travel up and down his creation in awe. "Do you like her?"

"Yes!"

Solas looked at the snow-woman again. His smile was more subdued than Vanyssa's, but there was no less joy behind it.

"Then I like her too," he replied.

Vanyssa wrapped her arms around his waist. "I like you more," she said.

Then she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was a tricky one to pull off, but lots of fun. The next chapter will be too, I suspect.
> 
> Due to chronic illness, I am unable to update Dragon Tamer as quickly as I'd like to. Normally, I don't share personal things like that with strangers online, but I do want to let you all know that if there are a few weeks without new chapters it doesn't mean the story has been abandoned. It simply means I need to look after my health. If you're interested in knowing how close an upcoming chapter is to being finished, I post frequent updates to my blog. It can be found at http://kinkmemelurker.tumblr.com/
> 
> While comments and reviews are always welcome, I ask you to please use spoiler warnings to avoid ruining the surprise ending of this chapter for new readers. I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Thank you so much, everyone.


	12. Chapter 12

The intimate gesture took Solas by surprise. He twisted his head sideways to avoid Vanyssa's mouth, then gently placed his hands on her shoulders and took a step back.

"I am sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You are my friend, and I care about you because you are my _friend_."

Vanyssa's face contorted as if she'd been stabbed in the gut. Seconds dragged on as Solas struggled with what to say next, and how to say it to someone who might not understand _any_ of it. When he reached his arms out to hug her she backed away from him, looking as though she were about to cry. Then her expression relaxed, and her arms hung loosely at her sides. It would have been the perfect picture of calm if not for vacant way her eyes looked through him rather than at him.

After a moment, Vanyssa finally broke the tension by walking away. Solas allowed her to gain some distance before following, and told himself it was for her benefit; she was the one who needed that space between them.

* * *

Tiny flakes of snow were falling from the sky when Vanyssa approached her cottage. The emotions she kept in check while face to face with Solas now threatened to overwhelm her. Without looking over her shoulder once, she stepped through the door, then carefully closed it with shaking hands, as if too much force might break the hinges. It was cold, and entirely dark within. 

_Maybe I misunderstood._

The walls shook from a strong gust of wind as she turned around to face the door. She stood in silence, waiting for the knock. Solas would come, and he would tell her he felt as she did.

There was no knock.

With some effort, Vanyssa managed to slow her breathing down. The frigid air made her shiver. She set her mind to lighting the fireplace, and cast a candlelight spell so she could find her way to it without stumbling into something. The pale, blue sphere of light in her hands shined up into her face. For a moment she could do little more than stare into it. 

_He isn't coming._

Vanyssa's hands abruptly parted, as if the blue sphere had burned them. Then her foot crashed down upon it, to put the imagined fire out. Tiny specks of heatless ember remained even as that segment of the stone floor shattered under the heel of her boot.

"Shit."

The room was dark again. Vanyssa moved forward blindly with her arms outstretched until she found the barrel beside her bed. She reached down for the candle so she could light it, but accidentally knocked it over the side, and didn't know where it landed.

Finding one of the wall torches proved less difficult. Once it was lit she could see the ugly little indentation her foot made in the floor, and the fallen candle which was now broken in two. Her legs trembled, but held her weight. She leaned back against the wall, and laughed hysterically. It was not a normal thing to do, she knew, but couldn't stop. Nothing felt like it would ever be alright again.

* * *

In the morning, Vanyssa woke to eat her breakfast before it got cold, then crawled back into bed and pulled the blanket over her head. When she couldn't fall back to sleep, she decided the best way to spend the day was drunk.

The tavern opened just moments before Vanyssa arrived. Save for Flissa, she was alone there. Not wanting to drink by herself, she set out on a mission to find Varric. It occurred to her the tavern was the only place in the village she ever saw him. Ale couldn't be his sole interest. What did he do to pay for it?

Eventually she found Varric in the last place she wanted to look: the room at the rear of the large stone building where Solas gave her the dragon book. Varric was talking to the hooded redhead. They looked pleased to see her, but the redhead less so after Vanyssa took him by the arm and dragged him out the door.

Varric laughed, though he seemed more nervous than amused. Vanyssa ignored it. He looked hesitant when they neared the door of the tavern, but went in with her anyway. Flissa brought them a couple mugs of ale without being asked. Varric paid her, and exchanged a few words with her, the last of which made her laugh as she returned to the counter.

When Varric spoke to Vanyssa he sounded concerned, and perhaps a touch annoyed. She ignored that too. The tavern door commanded the bulk of her attention. Every time someone opened it from the outside she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She knew Solas would come looking for her.

_I misunderstood._

_He'll change his mind._

Without Vanyssa's infatuation with Solas, there was little she could use to distract herself from the unnerving mark on her hand, or the unexplained gap in her memory right before awaking in Thedas, or the guilt she felt over the poor decision that likely brought her there. As she drank with Varric in his uncharacteristic silence, she realized her friendship with him served a similar purpose; one he wasn't fulfilling at present. A lump formed in her throat.

 _I don't really care about_ either _of you, do I?_

Vanyssa looked at the door one last time.

_He's not coming._

"I am sorry, Varric," she said in his language, then put her arms around his neck.

_You're a good friend, but I don't think I can be one to you. I'm so very sorry._

She cupped his face in her hands, and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead. "Good-bye, Varric."

When she exited the tavern, she thought their time together was concluded, but he followed. And then she ran. Upon reaching the door to her cottage, she turned around to see if he was trailing behind her. He was nowhere in sight, much to her relief.

* * *

"Chuckles! The dungeon is the last place I expected to find you this early in the day. Or any time of day, really," Varric said. "Which is why I looked in about fifty other places first. What the hell are you doing down here?"

Solas stood in the center of the room, staring at the floor. "A book I brought down here while studying Vanyssa's anchor mark has gone missing. I thought perhaps I left it behind by mistake," he said, not bothering to look up. "I am sorry to have eluded you, Varric. What do you need?"

"Ah, well," Varric stammered as he approached. "I think it's Pokey who might need something. Have you noticed her acting strangely today?"

"No," Solas said with some hesitation, "but she has recently experienced some distress, if that is the manner of behavior you are referring to."

"Something like that, sure," Varric said. "Care to elaborate?"

"No," Solas replied, then let out a small sigh, "but I will." Their eyes met before he glanced down the empty corridor to make sure they would not be overheard by anyone. 

Varric did the same. "I think we're good," he said, then stepped beside him. "So what happened?" 

"Last night I did something that led Vanyssa to believe I harbored feelings for her beyond friendship," Solas replied quietly, then proceeded to describe their time in the clearing together.

"Ah, shit. No wonder she wanted to start boozing it up as soon as the tavern opened," Varric said. "You ok, Chuckles?"

"As I said, my feelings for her are not romantic in nature," Solas replied.

"Yeah, I get that. Friends aren't any less important though. Anyone who tells you otherwise ain't ever had a good one," Varric said in a tone that bordered on melancholy.

Solas raised his eyebrows slightly. "I- I am surprised you see it that way. Not many would," he said. " I will be alright. Thank you, Varric."

"Not a problem," he replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

* * *

Roughly two agonizing weeks dragged by. In his mind, Solas revisited all of the moments he spent with Vanyssa since they met. Looking back now, he could see many of the signs that her feelings for him had turned romantic, and the things _he_ did that were undoubtedly misinterpreted as mutual attraction. The blunder was as much his as it was hers. He wished there was an easy way to fix it.

Solas knocked at the door of Vanyssa's cottage. Normally, he'd wait until she opened it before coming in. He wondered if perhaps she wouldn't though. Then he called out to her, and the door immediately opened. The abruptness made him take a step back. He expected hostility. Instead the look on her face was a stoicism that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Solas," the name came out of her mouth, small and child-like.

"May I enter?" he asked.

With a nod, Vanyssa moved aside so that he could. Once he was inside, the state of her quarters made it clear she wasn't doing well. The last time he visited, it was tidy and organized. Now there were thin layers of dust spread about, an unmade bed, and some of the furniture was crookedly repositioned. He shook his head at the sight, but kept his thoughts to himself. 

It was a shame she began refusing lessons in the common tongue, he thought as he tried to explain to her that she needed to accompany him to the war room. She would not have been fluent in it by this point, but at least further along than she was. Eventually, he got her to follow. 

The chantry corridor was silent, save for a brief exchange between a Tranquil and the newly arrived Mother Giselle. Vanyssa remained a few feet away from Solas until they passed the door to the prison cells. Little by little, she started inching her way closer to him. By time they reached the door to the war room, their arms were touching. A part of him viewed this with optimism. Maybe the hurt would fade soon, and they could be friends again.

Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen were waiting inside when they entered. There was a quiet tension among them, with Cassandra glaring at Leliana, Leliana standing on the opposite side of the table with her arms folded across her chest, and Cullen rigidly standing at attention.

Solas gestured to Vanyssa. "You wished to see her?" he asked Cassandra.

"Both of you, actually," Cassandra replied.

Solas nodded. "How can I help?"

"We'll get to that in a moment. First, a question for Vanyssa," Cassandra replied, then jabbed the table with her finger and addressed her. "Where on the map do you come from?"

When Vanyssa didn't reply, Solas intervened. "Where on the map is your home?" he said, pointing at it.

She squinted at him, and hesitantly shook her head as she stepped towards the table. "What is map of?" 

"This is a map of Thedas," Solas replied, then pointed at it again. "Where in Thedas is home?"

"Thedas not home. Tamriel is home," Vanyssa said.

"Is Tamriel on this map?" he asked.

"Not Tamriel map," she said, shaking her head again.

Cassandra let out a small sigh. "It was worth a try," she said to nobody in particular, then turned to Leliana. "Ask him then."

"Solas, there has been talk throughout Haven that the Herald's magic comes directly from the Maker. I'd not concern myself with such a rumor, but one of the sisters claim that _you_ started it," Leliana said. "Is there any truth to this?"

Solas sighed. "I assure you I have made no effort to convince people that _anything_ about Vanyssa is tied to your Maker. However, I suppose it is my fault that this rumor about her magic began," he replied.

Leliana frowned. "How so?"

"One of the sisters attempted to give Vanyssa a lyrium potion while she was healing soldiers after the bandit attack. Had I not been distracted with healing one of them myself, I would have intervened. Fortunately, she could tell just by smelling it that it was something toxic for her," he said.

Cullen snorted. "That's ridiculous. Why would lyrium potions be toxic to a mage?"

"For a mage whose mana is linked to the Fade, it would not be. Vanyssa's only link to the Fade is the anchor mark. The magic she wields is linked to somewhere else altogether. Were she to consume lyrium potions, she would become addicted just as surely as any templar," he said.

"Do you know where her magic _is_ linked to?" Leliana asked.

"I do not. Indeed, before you brought me to her, I would have told you no other such source could exist," Solas said.

"Then perhaps the Maker _did_ send her to us," Leliana replied, though it seemed more directed towards Cassandra.

"That, or it serves to explain how she was born under the Qun without anyone discovering she was a mage. I won't deny the Maker played a role in delivering her to us, but I'm not convinced she was born at his side," Cassandra told her, then turned her attention to Solas. "We will learn the truth soon enough, I suppose. Leliana has made contact with a group of mercenaries led by a qunari. We have arranged a meeting on the Storm Coast. You, Vanyssa, and Varric will accompany me there."

"You are hoping the mercenary leader will serve as a translator for Vanyssa, I take it," he replied.

Cassandra scowled. "That is the plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the OP expressed concern over Iron Bull x Inquisitor not happening due to the ending of Chapter 11, I wanted to put their worries to rest without spoiling Chapter 12. Given how little positive media representation there is for polyamorous people, falsely hinting at a future relationship between Solas, Iron Bull, and the Inquisitor was a careless and callous thing for me to do, regardless of intent. I sincerely apologize for this, and will do my best to be more considerate in the future.
> 
> On a brighter note, guess who Vanyssa is finally going to meet in Chapter 13! You've all been incredibly patient. Thank you so much!


	13. Chapter 13

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, one of the founders of the Inquisition. I’ll assume you are the Iron Bull."

The moment he heard the Nevarran accent, he knew exactly who the attractive, dark-haired woman was. The dwarf that accompanied her was probably Varric Tethras, the bald elf who lingered a couple feet behind them was an unknown, and the much talked about "Herald of Andraste" was nowhere in sight.

“Yeah, horns usually give it away,” he said, internally groaning in pain as he sat down on a giant boulder. The dampness of the Storm Coast made his joints ache, and being surrounded by dead bodies, even the Tevinter variety, wasn’t improving his mood much either. “I’ll admit I was surprised when your Ambassador contacted us. People like yours tend to steer clear of people like us unless they’re desperate.”

The annoyed look the Seeker gave Iron Bull in response told him he was right. It crossed his mind to have Krem open the casks, then offer their guests some drinks, but then his _gut_ told him bringing booze into the mix wouldn’t go over well with her, and at this stage she was the one he needed to impress. His superiors tasked him with infiltrating the Inquisition, and sending back whatever he learned about the Breach and the magic allegedly being used to close the rifts. While it was too soon to tell if the Chargers _would_ be hired, he knew he could at least milk her for valuable information, and confirm some of the more questionable bits he already collected on his own, if he played his cards right.

"The Inquisition has it on good authority that your mercenary group is reliable; professional even,” Cassandra said, making no effort to mask the skepticism in her voice. “We have need of those who are experienced in combat.”

Iron Bull gave her a nod and a shrug. "Well, if you’re in the market for mercenaries, you won’t find better than us."

Cassandra folded her arms across her chest. "We also have it on good authority that you _particularly_ are quite skilled. Your Qunari superiors must have been disappointed when you chose to become Tal-Vashoth. If you don't mind me asking, what was it that made you decide to walk away from the Qun?"

_Ah, and there it is. You don't waste any time, do you, Seeker?_

Iron Bull lowered his voice. "Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?"

Cassandra scowled. "You are a Qunari spy?" she asked through gritted teeth.

_You might be a beast on the battlefield, but you’ve got no head for subterfuge, Seeker._

"Uh, yeah. Something tells me you already knew that though,” he said with a grin.

Cassandra squeezed the bridge of her nose. "I am going to kill Leliana."

"She did warn you that was a possibility," said the dwarf, flashing her a wide, toothy grin of his own.

"Quiet, Varric," she snapped. "I have not forgotten."

_Tethras, check._

For a moment, all Cassandra could do was glare down at Iron Bull with clenched fists. Just when he thought she was about to punch him, she said, "We will still hire you. All of your future correspondence with your people will be filtered through our spymaster, Leliana. Should you attempt to maneuver around that restriction, I will collect your head and return it to them."

"Hey, look, I get it. Relations between your folks and mine have been pretty rough. But right now, the Qunari's main concern is dealing with the Breach. Magic like that is bad news for everyone," Iron Bull said.

"If concern over the Breach is the Qunari's only reason for wanting to install one of their own in the Inquisition, why not simply send an ambassador and _ask_ to join us?"

"After we tore up Kirkwall, we figured the south wouldn't be willing to welcome us back quite so soon."

Cassandra remained silent for a moment, then gave him a firm nod. "I understand," she said. "In any event, we should have you meet the Herald as soon as possible."

Iron Bull was pleased to see that the Seeker wasn’t completely without reason. "Sure, where is she?" he asked, frowning at the two men who accompanied her.

"Back at our camp," she said.

"She get injured on the way here?" he asked, though his first guess was that meeting a band of mercenaries was a task their so-called Herald deemed better left to her lessers.

"No, but there is a problem that made it unwise to bring her with us to this meeting. It is, in fact, this very problem that we are hiring you to fix. Our camp is just up that hill," Cassandra said.

"What’s the problem?" he asked.

“Vanyssa is only able to speak Qunlat. We need someone to serve as a translator for her,” she replied.

_Tal-Vashoth, check. Weird name._

"The Chargers and I are sort of a package deal-"

"It will be worth it to hire your mercenary group in its entirety if you can help us establish better communication with her," Cassandra replied.

_Better start proving myself useful then._

"If she only speaks Qunlat, she was either born under the Qun or brought into it when she was an infant," he said.

"Indeed," Cassandra said, "we believe she is a former Tamassran."

"Why?"

"There was a book in Haven's library: _The Tamassran's Companion_. She became emotional when we gave it to her, and has been found reading it every day since," Cassandra replied. "Even on the road, she removes it from her pack to do so before she goes to sleep."

"If she's Tal-Vashoth, I don't imagine she's going to take too kindly to you bringing a member of the Ben-Hassrath straight to her," he said.

"You may convey to her that if you attempt to harm her in any way, I will personally see to it that _that_ is the last thing you ever do," she said.

 _Yeah, yeah. You’re a badass. I_ get _it._

Iron Bull let out a good-natured chuckle. "Point taken,” he said. “About how old would you say she is?”

“That is difficult to determine. She has a peculiar appearance due to her mixed lineage,” she replied.

 _She wasn’t_ bred _under the Qun then._

“She told me she is 20 years old,” the elf interjected.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “So _she_ says. Her demeanor suggests she is younger. I would place her at seventeen; no older.”

“I should think her level of skill in magic and combat suggest otherwise,” said the elf.

_Saarebas, check._

“You speak a bit of Qunlat then?” he asked the elf.

“Solas has been teaching Vanyssa the common tongue with limited success,” Cassandra said.

_Solas. Good to know._

“These are difficult circumstances for her. I am certain with an appropriate amount of time to adjust, she will have little trouble learning it,” Solas said with a twinge of shame so subtle that Iron Bull doubted anyone else picked up on it. Both the reaction and his skill at masking it would be worth looking into later, when the opportunity presented itself.

“Time is a luxury we cannot afford,” she replied dismissively, then returned her attention to Iron Bull. “If you would accompany us back to our camp to meet her, we would appreciate it.”

Iron Bull nodded, then looked to his left where, several feet away, his men were sitting on the ground together, sorting through loot and talking amongst themselves. "Hey, Krem,” he called over to him. “You, me, and Dalish are going to take a stroll up the hill with our treasured guests."

In the company of outsiders, “treasured” was code for _these assholes might be up to something_.

“Sure thing, Chief,” he called back as he stood up, and brushed some of the sand from his armor.

_This better not be a trap._

The breeze was cool, and not swift enough to be a nuisance. Dalish and Solas exchanged some brief pleasantries; beyond that the group talked little. Each step sent a bolt of pain up Iron Bull’s leg, though nothing in his demeanor would ever show it. As they neared the camp, he noticed something that made him reach for his weapon.

"Hey, stop a minute," he said.

"What is it?" asked Cassandra.

"There's a dragon up ahead," he replied.

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"I can smell it. Sort of," he said, giving the air a sniff. "Something's off about it. Let's be careful."

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at him. “You can _smell_ a dragon?”

“Qunari can smell a lot of things, for better or worse,” he told her, though his sight remained focused on the top of the hill.

“That’s the Chief’s polite way of saying those of us born outside the Qun stink,” Krem explained with an air of amusement.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Were it a large dragon, we would hear it,” she said. “Probably, it is a dragonling.”

Iron Bull was kind of impressed by how unfazed the Inquisition people were by the prospect of fighting one, large or small. They trudged up the mountain, quiet and cautious, but if they were nervous at all they did a good job of hiding it.

* * *

The camp was quiet. Vanyssa had ducked into one of the tents to remove her armor soon after Solas, Varric, and Cassandra left. She could still sense the dragon that flew overhead earlier, but it was far away now. Whatever havoc it was wreaking was beneath her concern. This wasn't her world, these weren't her people, and as far as she was concerned she was done playing hero.

While the Dragon Book only made slightly more sense to her now than it did the first time she opened it, that didn't stop her from finding what comfort she could in its pages. She removed it from her pack, and remained in the tent to read it. The two soldiers that lingered in the camp, a rotund man and a thin woman, were having a chat outside, but left her undisturbed otherwise.

Vanyssa became so immersed in her study of the book, there was no telling how much time had passed when she abruptly lifted her head. A dragon was nearing the camp; the same one from earlier, she suspected. She put the book aside, grabbed her warhammer, and rushed out.

The two soldiers were startled, either by the suddenness of Vanyssa's exit from the tent, or because she looked like she was about to clobber someone. The man tried to talk to her. She ignored them both, instead staring into the sky and listening. It was odd to sense a dragon so close, but neither see it, or even hear it.

What Vanyssa did hear was Cassandra's voice, and another she didn't recognize. Just as she was about to run down the hill to try to warn them of the impending danger, the group came into view with three newcomers: a Bosmer woman, an Imperial man, and a male figure that resembled a Xivilai. The latter lacked the telltale threads of magic that connected Xivilai to the Deadlands though. As they neared, it became obvious this gray, horned man was the dragon she sensed, but not entirely a dragon; something more physically akin to a dragon than she was, but less dragon-blooded. She’d never seen his like before.

When they reached the camp, the gray man stared at Vanyssa with an air of suspicion. Cassandra said something to him, but his eyes never left her. Then he spoke, not in the language Cassandra and the others did, but in the language of the Dragon Book.

The dragon souls within her stirred, and could not reach consensus. Some demanded that she kill him at once. Others forbid her from doing so, for they did not wish his soul to live side by side with them in their prison of flesh. The rest gazed upon him with a wary intellectual interest, but they were in the minority. She was so overwhelmed by it all, her arms went limp and she dropped her warhammer.

* * *

There was a sinking feeling in Iron Bull’s stomach. Reavers smelled of dragons, and his own people smelled of dragons, but neither scent could ever be mistaken for that of a dragon. The only way in which hers differed was a matter of cleanliness; the absence of pungent, unwashed stench. He already new she was saarebas, and this was just another layer of unnatural. The Ben-Hassrath made the right call in sending him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully they'll both survive the next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike other Dragon Age characters’ names, Iron Bull is a pair of words that would exist in Vanyssa's language. To keep things consistent, his name will have a “Thedassian” translation when the story is told from her POV, the same way her dialogue gets a “Skyrimese” translation when it’s told from another character’s POV.
> 
> [My beta reader](http://fwlw.tumblr.com/) gets extra special thanks for her contribution to this chapter. She took a mediocre first draft, and really helped to make it something outstanding.

For most of Vanyssa’s life, she felt different from other people; different in a _bad_ way. When she learned that she was Dragonborn it was good to finally understand why, and to be appreciated for it. Still there was a part of her that felt separated from the people around her. The special friendship she formed with an ancient vampire named Serana in Skyrim had helped to some degree, because their plights were similar. Regardless, she wanted a greater connection with something like herself; had wanted it so much she was willing to spare the life of the dragon, Paarthurnax, who was guilty of mass murder, if only it meant she’d have the chance to achieve it.

One thing she was coming to loathe about Thedas was the extra layer of “different” it inflicted upon her. She didn’t belong here, and it became more evident to her with each passing day. The dragon souls within her may not have liked the gray, horned man, but for her he was the first thing she encountered since waking up here that felt familiar to her in every respect. There was a comfort in that; perhaps even hope. If she were to be trapped in this world forever, having a friend like that in her life might make it tolerable.

He raised his eyebrows at her when she tried to greet him in the dragon tongue, then tilted his head sideways and frowned. Instead of replying to her in it as she hoped, he spoke to Cassandra in the language she came to think of as _Thedassian_. Meanwhile, the Imperial and the Bosmer introduced themselves to her as Krem and Dalish. The gray, horned man was of more interest to her than they were, but they both seemed pleasant enough.

When he introduced himself as Ijala Boganu, he corrected her pronunciation of the name several times before smacking his forehead and giving up. The way everyone laughed at her made her want to sink into the ground and disappear. She tried speaking to him in the dragon tongue again, but that only made him shrug, and shake his head at her with a mix of intrigue and disappointment. The way he regarded her was a small thing, she knew, but the latter felt like a punch to the gut.

The entire group settled down in the camp, taking seats around the fire on the rickety wooden benches that surrounded it. Vanyssa had picked up her warhammer from the ground and followed them back, but was unsure of what to do. Much to her dismay, she ended up seated next to Solas, who she was still too ashamed to look in the eye. What she wanted was to speak with Boganu. He didn’t seem to understand the dragon tongue any better than she understood the overall language of the Dragon Book though.

The language barrier didn’t matter, she decided. It was the first time in a long while she allowed herself to desire something this strongly that wasn’t for someone else’s benefit. Solas didn’t count; her attraction to him had been shallow and duplicitous. The meager spark of what she felt for Boganu was sincere. It felt _right_.

Vanyssa wondered why this was her first time seeing someone like Boganu since arriving in Thedas. Were his people from somewhere far away? Did he even have a people? Maybe he was this world’s version of a Dragonborn; the only person of his kind. She wouldn’t wish isolation on someone who didn’t deserve it, but if he did suffer in that way then perhaps he saw her the same way she saw him.

Whenever a dragon was nearby, the resulting restlessness and pounding of her heart was usually easy to deal with since most of them died soon after they crossed paths with her. The few times she spoke to Paarthurnax, those feelings escalated until she parted ways with him. As she’d make her way back down the mountain she was overwhelmed by a sense of relief, but also a sense of regret that she could never fathom.

Now sitting with Boganu in the camp, it was difficult to pay attention to anything else. While their outer, physical attributes may have been a great deal different, they shared an inherent kinship that was unlike any she had with a person before; she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She tried feigning interest in the nonsensical conversations happening around her, and staring into the fire, but her eyes kept returning to him. Then he’d catch her looking at him, and she’d look away.

Varric laughed while gesturing to her, then said something to Boganu with an air of amusement. Perhaps he noticed their awkward exchange and thought it was funny. That, or he was laughing at Solas for some reason. She hated the uncertainty of what was happening around her.

Cassandra spoke to Varric. Then he nodded, abandoned his seat, and disappeared into Vanyssa’s tent. She was certain that couldn’t be good.

“What you do, Varric?” she called out to him in his language.

When he returned, he was carrying the Dragon Book. Vanyssa sprung up from the bench, snatched it from him, and held it tight against her chest. Boganu talked to her, though none of it made sense save for the gesture he made with his hand for her to approach him. She couldn’t help smiling as she did so.

Once she was standing close enough, Krem abandoned his seat beside Boganu, switching to where she’d just been sitting. The latter placed one of his giant hands on her shoulder, urging her to sit with him. A layer of cloth served as a thin barrier, but she could feel the slight warmth of him, and wished she was feeling more of it. 

After she sat down, he broke the small bit of contact, tapped the Dragon Book with one finger, then said something. When she didn’t respond, he held out both of his hands in front of her, palms up. Was he asking her to give him the book? Would he give it back to her?

Vanyssa wanted Boganu to like her, so she put the book in his hands. It was a small price to pay if it helped her win him over. He opened the book, then said something brief to Cassandra before he began reading it aloud. Vanyssa scooted over until her leg was touching his, and started reading along with him. A tiny part of her was grateful for the excuse to touch him.

They read a couple sentences together. Then he stopped and silently watched her face as she continued. Self-consciousness settled in as she realized everyone in the camp was staring at her, so she stopped as well. Krem spoke brief words directed at Boganu, then laughed. That combined with the confusion on everyone’s face made Vanyssa wonder if they noticed her fixation on him, and thought her behavior foolish. She’d been the focus of everyone’s attention since Cassandra led them back to the camp, or so it appeared, and she was sick of it.

“Assholes,” she muttered in her mother tongue, then yanked the book out of Boganu’s hands. He brought an arm around her back, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and said something to her in the Dragon Book’s language in a consoling tone. No dragon she met before had spoken to her like that. It felt strange to hear it now, though not in a disagreeable way.

Boganu tried speaking to Vanyssa. All she made out was a question about the Dragon Book though, and she couldn’t figure out what specifically he was asking about it. She could tell he was trying to reword it in different ways, but it didn't help. At last, he let out an irritated grunt and turned his gaze to the fire. It felt like he was losing respect for her, assuming he had any for her to start with. They’d only just met though. If he was joining the group, then surely there’d be opportunity enough to prove herself in whatever way she needed to.

The tone of the following conversation was serious, if not grim. While everyone had at least a few words to contribute, it was dominated by Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Solas. She wondered if she did something wrong, or if the group had simply directed its focus elsewhere.

Vanyssa decided this was a good time to put the Dragon Book back in her tent where it belonged. Not wanting to leave Boganu’s side, she made a point of being quick about her business, but when she emerged, he was standing, along with Krem and Dalish. The former said something to her when he saw her, and thumbed over his shoulder at the path leading out of the camp. She ran over to it to see what he was pointing at. Nothing looked new or out of the ordinary though.

Krem stepped beside her, clapped her on the shoulder, and said something with a nod and an air of finality, before starting down the path. Dalish stopped beside her, said something with a similar inflection, then followed him. Then Boganu ruffled Vanyssa’s hair, waved to the remaining group, and said something jovial followed by a hardy laugh. It was then Vanyssa understood: _they were leaving_.

“No go,” she said in Thedassian as she took one of Boganu’s much larger hands in both of hers, then tried to pull him back to the fire. He said something to her in a gruff tone, then gently wrapped his other hand around her wrist and severed her grip on him. Having grown accustomed to being the strongest person everywhere she went, she assumed he wouldn’t even come close to doing that, and was too startled to struggle against him.

It also now occurred to Vanyssa that he was much taller than her; as tall as an Altmer, if not more so. The top of her head barely reached his pecks. Much like a real dragon, he could crush her with ease if her veins weren’t coursing with dragon blood of their own. While this realization did not invoke fear, it was enough to give her pause.

“Please no go!” This time she placed herself right in front of him to block his path. She expected he’d either try to maneuver around her, or grab her by the arm and drag her out of his way. Instead, he picked her up by the waist, and put her down behind him. Her attempts to twist out of his grasp did little more than kick up a cloud of dirt.

For her next amazing feat, she sat on one of Boganu’s boots, wrapped both of her arms around his leg, and clung to it for dear life. He folded his arms across his chest, and bellowed something at her in the Dragon Book language that was probably meant to scare her into releasing him, but it didn’t work.

It was then Solas saw fit to intervene. First he tried to talk her into abandoning her efforts, or so she guessed. When that didn’t get the desired result, he tried to pry her from Boganu’s leg with his bare hands, which left one of them with an angry nip.

Boganu reached down and lightly poked Vanyssa’s ribs over and over again. A surprised giggle erupted from her mouth as she brought her arms down to her sides and let go of him. Her face turned red with embarrassment, then anger.

Nobody tickled the Dragonborn and lived to talk about it.

No, not even Boganu.

_First I will take out the offending party…_

The sound of someone snickering behind her interrupted her thought.

 _...then_ all _of the witnesses._

With clenched fists, Vanyssa stood up and shouted.

_**Fus ro!** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the story of how Iron Bull died.
> 
> The end.


	15. Chapter 15

Before Iron Bull understood what was happening, he was flying backwards. Trying to dig his feet into the ground to slow himself proved unsuccessful. He landed on top of someone who, if the muffled cries were any indication, had landed face first in the dirt.

Krem and Varric ran towards him, frantic.

“Chief!”

“Solas!”

_And now I know who’s under me. Great._

Just as Iron Bull was about to stand up, Vanyssa leaped on top of him. “How dare!” she yelled, then grabbed him by his harness and started slamming him backwards. Poor Solas could do little more than flail and groan. 

“Chief, are you ok?”

“How dare!”

Slam.

Groan.

“Pokey, what’s gotten into you?”

“How dare!”

Slam.

Groan.

Vanyssa’s rage proved a fortunate distraction. Iron Bull grabbed her by the wrists, and by time she realized what was happening he was on his feet, dangling her in the air before him.

“Cut it out!” he yelled back at her.

She scowled up at him. “Ceh hefk ovt yalm howpe liaz!”

“I’m not putting you down until I’m sure you’re not going to throw anymore magic at me,” he bellowed at her. _The Ben-Hassrath are going to shit themselves when they find out about this._

“Fah vazt ez ailli esgo ceh? Ayst'is fah dovahkiin, zugy!”

While he recognized “dovah”, there was little time to give it any thought; one of many details to tuck away for later.

Varric helped Solas limp to a bench. By some miracle, the latter only suffered the mildest of injuries, but his face was filthy and he was glaring poison daggers at Iron Bull, as if he was the one who did something wrong. It was only then that Vanyssa realized the elf was hurt.

“Solas!” she cried, then glanced up at Iron Bull’s face and muttered, “Tilev kyit faij.” 

“Ow! Damn it!” Two tiny bolts of electricity leapt from Vanyssa’s fingers into Iron Bull’s hands, forcing him to release her. Rather than accosting him further, she rushed to her friend.

“Sorry, Solas,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

Iron Bull winced as he rubbed one hand with the other. “Yeah, I‘m fine too, thanks,” he grumbled.

In truth, he didn’t want to part ways with Vanyssa. The best way to gather information about her was to spend time with her, but there wasn’t an excuse he could use to stick with the group that wouldn’t set off warning bells until now. Her aggressive response to stop his departure gave him a perfect one.

“If this is going to be a _thing_ with her, I should probably stay,” he said to Cassandra, then turned to Dalish and Krem. “You two return to the Chargers’ campsite, and make the trip to Haven without me. I’ll see you there in a few days, I guess.”

“Understood,” Krem replied, then left with Dalish.

Solas sat on a bench, dabbing his face clean with a cloth and small bowl of water. Varric sat to one side of him, and Vanyssa to the other. Iron Bull sat across from them. Cassandra stood in front of the bench beside theirs with her arms folded across her chest, scowling at Vanyssa.

“So, are we going to talk about about what just happened? I mean about,” Varric said, gesturing to Vanyssa, “whatever _that_ was. I’m no mage, but I’ve traveled with enough of them to know that wasn’t normal. I can still feel it in my teeth, and I’m not even the one she cast it on.”

Both Varric and Cassandra looked at Solas, as if they expected him to know. “I cannot explain the nature of the magic that she used. All I can claim with any conviction is that this was neither magic of the Fade nor the magic she normally uses,” he said. “It is new to me.”

“How many types of magic are there?” Varric asked.

“I am no longer certain,” Solas replied. “I am sorry.”

 _You know_ something _about it you’re not saying._

Cassandra shot Vanyssa a hard look, shaking her head. “Leliana is convinced that her magic comes from the Maker; that that is why it isn’t connected to the Fade.” She paused, turning her attention to Solas. “It pains me to say it, but I am glad you are not Andrastian. Greater skepticism is needed now.”

“I am happy to hear you say it, but at the same time I fear you perceive my skepticism of her descent from the Maker’s side for that of her character. Just because she is not holy by your definition does not mean she carries ill intent,” Solas said.

 _Holy by_ her _definition? Odd way of putting it. Who else’s would she be holy by?_

Both Cassandra’s face and voice softened. “I know,” she replied. “That is why I made her your ward. You have been her champion from the beginning. I trust that you can seek the truth without treating her harshly.”

_Ward? For fuck’s sake, she’s not twelve._

“I-” Solas paused, as if at a loss for words. “I am grateful for your trust. Thank you.”

Iron Bull watched Vanyssa rise from her seat on the bench. She walked around the fire until she stood in front of him, then put her arms around his neck like she’d done to Solas.

“Very sorry, Iron Boo!”

Varric chuckled. “That will never _not_ be funny.”

Iron Bull wrapped an arm around her waist, and patted the back of her head with feigned awkwardness. “I forgive you, I suppose.”

The way she flipped back and forth between insecurity, anger, and regret was strange. Iron Bull’s mind sifted through everything he knew about her up to this point, and was left with a question.

“Seeker, your people are sure Vanyssa stepped out of the Fade?” he asked as the latter took a seat beside him.

“That is correct,” Cassandra replied.

“Got any idea how long she was there?” he asked. “Days? Months?”

“We don’t know,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen people act like this after one too many years in Seheron. Don’t know all of what happens to a person when they’re actually _in_ the Fade,” he said, glancing at Vanyssa. “Can’t imagine anything good.”

“The Fade is a perilous place for mages, asleep or awake. If she was there for a long time it- it would have taken its toll,” she said. “Do you think she poses a serious danger now?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, returning his attention to Cassandra, “but it’s something you’ll want to keep an eye on.”

It wasn’t beyond him to feel sympathy for a mage; if Vanyssa was trapped in the Fade long enough to develop mind sickness, the affliction was something they shared. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. More importantly though, was proving how valuable he’d be to the Inquisition. Sure, the Chargers were officially hired, but they could just as easily be _un_ hired. Making sure that didn’t happen was a priority. Whatever insight he could offer Cassandra only helped his cause.

The camp settled into an uncomfortable silence. Vanyssa’s dragon scent became part of the background noise, but not forgotten. Getting knocked back by her magic was nothing unusual; he’d been hit with mind blast spells hundreds of times while fighting Vints. The feel of the spell she used was what put up red flags; it was all-encompassing, as if it were everywhere at once. He never felt anything like it before. All magic was perverse, but his gut told him this was even worse. 

To remain with the Inquisition, Iron Bull would honor his agreement to cooperate with Leliana. Hissrad though, the man he truly was and always would be, wasn’t obligated to honor anything but the Qun. One way or another, the Ben-Hassrath would receive fully detailed reports of the organization and its uncanny little saarebas puppet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you know why people laugh whenever Vanyssa says Iron Bull's name. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaaaaaaaaaaack!

In the Fade, Solas lingered amongst the tents. Save for two Inquisition soldiers standing guard at the edges of the campsite, all were asleep until Vanyssa emerged from the one she shared with Cassandra. She stepped toward Iron Bull’s tent, hand hovering over the flap as if she were going to let herself in. Then she pulled her hand away, clutching her chest with it as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

Whatever she was dealing with _ **,**_ it was meant to be private. Solas, no longer feeling comfortable watching her, decided to venture about the area surrounding the campsite. He didn’t doubt the capabilities of the soldiers, but a third pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. 

A pair of baby nugs poked their heads out of their burrow, no doubt hoping to get into some mischief while their mother slept. The hoot of a nearby owl sent them scurrying back in. That or the sound of Varric chuckling at something. Solas looked up. Was the sun rising already? Varric wasn’t prone to rising with it. Perhaps Vanyssa woke him.

While her outburst the night before was nothing to celebrate, the guilt she felt over injuring Solas seemed to erase the tension between them. By the end of the evening, she wasn’t avoiding eye contact with him anymore. It was a start, and going to bed with a sore back was a small price to pay for it.

The spell Vanyssa used to send Iron Bull flying through the air was fascinating. Even in this modern age, most spells that required words were dependent on Elvhen. Some spells were even in Tevene. None were in Qunlat, but Solas recognized the old Qunlat words in hers even if Iron Bull didn’t. It made him wonder how the Qunari would respond if they learned that the ‘Herald of Andraste’ introduced magic to Thedas that was commanded by their ancient tongue. Violently, he suspected.

And now having met Iron Bull, Solas also suspected that the benefits he’d bring to the Inquisition would be outweighed by the danger. The ruse he was using was one all too familiar to him. Admit you are a threat upfront, _but no no, don’t worry, I am no threat to_ you. _Everyone but_ you.

Whether or not it would work remained to be seen, but it seemed Vanyssa was not only instantly willing to trust him, she was drawn to him. It made little sense, but sense wasn’t often the drive behind attraction. Regardless of her reasoning, it could present a problem. Solas feared what Iron Bull could get himself into if nobody kept proper tabs on him. 

* * *

“Vanyssa!”

Solas opened his eyes from within his tent.

“Vanyssa!” he heard Cassandra shouting. “Where did you get that?”

“You no take booze!” he heard Vanyssa shouting back, followed by some manner of scuffle.

Solas crawled out of his tent at once. Cassandra was chasing Vanyssa around the campsite. The latter was running away while chugging down the contents of an ornate flask with surprising success. The scene playing out would have amused him if it wasn’t taking place first thing in the morning.

When it was clear she couldn’t catch Vanyssa, Cassandra’s ire shifted to Varric. “I told you not to give her anymore spirits while we’re traveling,” she shouted.

“Seeker, getting drunk at the crack of dawn is an important part of our proud Dwarven heritage,” he said as he sat down on a bench next to where she stood. “You’re being unreasonable.”

Solas frowned at Varric. “Given how little love you have for said heritage, I find it surprising you would care about such a thing.”

Varric threw up his hands. “What can I say? Some traditions hold more charm than others.”

* * *

The Fade was more cruel than usual that night. While Vanyssa was never one to get liquored up so early, she could not picture herself getting through the day without at least enough to take the edge off. Her tolerance was high, but the strength of whatever was in Varric’s flask was enough to knock a normal person on their ass. The buzz lasted well past their departure from camp.

Cassandra seemed to know where the group was going, which was good since Vanyssa didn’t even know the purpose of this excursion through the wilderness. All that was apparent when they left was that there would be fighting, or at least a good chance of it. That morning Cassandra appeared focused, Varric tense, Solas calm as usual, and Boganu alert and cranky **,** though trying to hide the latter. 

There was a time she never noticed such things about people, content to take their words at face value. Now that she couldn’t rely on words so much, she was forced to study people’s face, and listen to their tones. To convey her own thoughts, she resorted to much more physical contact than she was comfortable with. She was feeling less and less like herself.

The terrain reminded her of the central region of Skyrim, and she found herself distracted by memories of Tamriel; barely surviving the initial journey from High Rock, the detached numbness after Helgen as she fumbled through the woods for days with no map, and welcoming the death she thought she’d face in Bleak Falls Barrow, only to discover she could _fight_. Battle was a novelty then.

It was a way of life now.

The group fought bandits and bears as they traveled. Mostly bears. Cassandra had a peculiar knack for provoking them. She gave the impression of wanting to provoke anything and anyone who got within fifty feet of her. 

Cassandra reminded her of one of the first real close friends she made in Skyrim, at least in that regard. The latter was yet another friend lost, perhaps forever if Vanyssa could not return home. Though unlike the rest of her friends, their parting ways happened long before her arrival in Thedas. It was a memory best left behind.

The group came upon some badly damaged buildings where a well-organized group of soldiers seemed to be waiting for them. The group made short work of them. Then Cassandra became irate. Perhaps this was their destination. If so, Vanyssa suspected this was not the state the woman was expecting to find it in.

Next stop was a fort. The guards stationed outside attacked on sight. The group fought back until everyone out and inside of it was dead. As much as she disliked her continuing role as healer, things wouldn’t have gone as smoothly without one. Better still, it allowed her to watch Boganu fight. The way he cleaved through enemies with his battleaxe, and all those little grunts… she could get used to this. Or at least learn to tolerate the role for a time.

Vanyssa was disappointed to learn that Boganu couldn’t breath fire. Cassandra seemed disappointed to learn that Vanyssa could. She wondered about the former though. Was the thu’um not a natural talent for people like him? 

As they made their way back to camp, the frequency with which her name was tossed back and forth made it clear that the two of them were having a tense **,** if not downright unpleasant discussion about her. She understood why sometimes people would need to talk about her like she wasn’t present, but she didn’t have to like it.

And there was no reason she couldn’t have a bit of fun with it.

The next time Cassandra spoke Vanyssa feigned understanding and shouted at her as if she were deeply offended. The look on the woman’s face was priceless. Vanyssa found the whole thing so amusing she took it one step further by folding her arms across her chest and refusing to accept her apology.

* * *

Cassandra scowled. “All I said was that we could roast a couple nugs for dinner. How could she be this upset?”

“I am afraid I do not know her well enough to offer any useful insight,” Solas replied. “Perhaps nugs hold a special place in her culture.”

Varric laughed. “You mean like Fereldans and their mabari?”

“Perhaps,” he repeated. 

Varric started laughing even harder.

“It is only speculation,” Solas said, annoyed.

“Oh, I know,” Varric said. “I’m just trying to picture a thaig full of giant nug statues surrounded by weepy mothers praying to the ancestors for their sons to come home from the Deep Roads.” He frowned. “But I guess if her dwarves are anything like the ones in Orzammar that wouldn’t really be her culture. Think they’d have nug statues in an alienage?”

“Given her particular skills I doubt that she comes from one, or anything like one,” Solas said. “It is possible that none of her people do.”

“Shit,” Varric said, “wouldn’t that be something?”

The conversation tapered off as they reached the Inquisition campsite. While they were away, a message from Leliana was delivered. They were to leave the Storm Coast the following morning for the Hinterlands.

* * *

The campsite was drenched the following morning from the night’s thunderstorm, and Iron Bull was glad that everyone else was as efficient at packing as he was. Save for a miscommunication that resulted in Vanyssa trying to mount him instead of her horse, he thought the group’s journey to the Hinterlands was going smoothly as well until they stopped at an inn for the night. Rusted hinges creaked as Cassandra yanked the door open. The strong odor of ale, roasted meat, and body odor hit him in the nose before he even stepped over the threshold. Then he saw it: a small team of mercenaries from Val-Kos, a mercenary company made up entirely of Tal-Vashoth, gathered around a rickety table just several feet from the entrance. Vanyssa entered behind him, and all at once their heads turned toward her. It made sense they would have smelled her the second she came in. The way she returned their looks made it clear the sudden fascination was mutual.

While Iron Bull’s expression remained peaceable, he was uneasy. One of their members was a former Tamassran, and it was good fortune that she wasn’t with them. If they recognized the old Qunlat Vanyssa spoke, Iron Bull’s position with the Inquisition could be compromised. The Chargers wouldn’t be fired on the spot if she was hired, but his proximity to her would be less tolerated.

As if reading his thoughts, a ghost of a smile spread across Solas’s face as his eyes shifted from him to Cassandra. “It may be to our benefit to talk to these people,” he said to her in a hushed voice.

_Little bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on how future chapters are coming along will no longer be posted to Tumblr. I don't have the time for it anymore.
> 
> For those now curious, I'm not planning to update WYGT again for the moment. That might change, but don't get your hopes up.
> 
> Oh! And in case anyone's wondering about Solas's weird Fade travels, he is presumably a somniari in canon. While we've seen some glimpses into what that entails, there is much left open to interpretation so I decided to have some fun with it.
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. There was no final beta reading so if anything seems off please let me know. If anyone would like to volunteer for that job in the future, that would be swell too.
> 
> It's good to be writing again!


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